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CDFXRIGHT DEPOSITS 



LOVE DIVINE 



STORIES ILLUSTRATING 

THE POWER OF THE 

LOVE OF CHRIST 

SUITABLE FOR READING AT YOUNG PEOPLE'S MEETINGS, 

MEN'S OR WOMEN'S SOCIETIES, AND 

SUNDAY SCHOOLS 




ROCK ISLAND 

AUGUSTANA BOOK CONCERN 



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Copyright, 1920, 

BY 

Augustana Book Concern 



MAR 24 1920 



ROCK ISLAND, ILLINOIS 

AUGUSTANA BOOK °CONCERN, PRINTERS AND BINDERS 
1920 



P&A566164 



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Contents 



PAGE 

Obedience 5 

The Snow Prayer 7 

The Bible 9 

What is the End? 10 

Found 11 

The Three Enemies 12 

More to be Desired than Gold 15 

The Pearl of Great Price. 18 

Your Father is Waiting for you 20 

His Worst Enemy 21 

Of What are You most Afraid? 22 

Loss or Gain 23 

Lord, have Mercy upon Me 23 

The Thing Most Precious 24 

How Shall Ye Escape? 29 

A Book without Words 33 

Why do You not Love Jesus? 35 

The Richest Man of the City 37 

John three sixteen 39 

The Little Girl's Prayer 44 

The Riddle of the Cross 45 

Too Early — Too Late 47 

Lord, Help Me 50 

Are You Ready? 53 

It is Your Fault, Mother .......... . , 55 

Listen, Someone is Knocking 60 

O that You Knew! ' 62 

The New Song 66 

Hail, Saviour and Redeemer! 70 

"Withstand! " 73 



— 4 — 

PAGE 

The Lost Bible 74 

The Bible that was Found 77 

How She Knew 83 

Her Experience 84 

What He was Good for 87 

On the Brink of Ruin 93 

The Story of a Young Man 95 

The Church Bells 100 

The Two Ferns 101 

When He Comes Again 102 

Guardian Angels 104 

Real Riches 106 

Perpetual Prayer 108 

Two Faces 110 



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Obedience 



I Cor. 13.7- "Love endureth all things." 

YOU should have heard the commotion. It was little Hans, 
who was to take his medicine. This must be done twice 
each day. The doctor had said that Hans must take this 
medicine, and there was no evasion possible; but little Hans 
screamed nevertheless. For three weeks matters had been in 
this state. Every time the bottle of medicine was brought out, 
there was wailing and lamentation. Hans had once for all made 
up his mind that the medicine was simply disgusting, though it 
certainly was not. His little sister Mary, who was entirely 
well, took some of the medicine the other day just to show her 
big brother how it was to be done. But Hans — no, he could 
not take it without screaming loud enough to raise the roof. 

But yesterday — who could have believed it ? — a great change 
occurred in him. Let me tell you how this came about. 

Yesterday Hans's mother became suddenly very sick. Hans 
saw the doctor come and go. Hans noticed too that his father 
looked sad and serious. A strange feeling came into his heart, 
a feeling which seemed to choke him. And the thought came 
to him, "What if mother should die, just as my aunt died last 
year! Oh, that I could do something to make mother happy!" 



He wondered and wondered if there was anything he might do 
for his mother. All of a sudden he had it: there on the table 
stood his bottle of medicine; no one had thought of it to-day. 
He ran into the next room and said to his aunt, "Dear aunt, 
please give me my medicine, right away and a big spoonful." 
His aunt could hardly believe her ears ; she could not understand 
his sudden change, but she was not slow to fulfil his request. 
Little Mary stood by and stared at him in open-mouthed 
wonder that he did not as usual fight against the taking of 
his medicine, although it was plain by his face that the medicine 
tasted none too good. — Hans crept quietly close to his mother. 
How pale she was! 

"Mother," he whispered in her ear, "mother, to-day I have 
taken my medicine and I haven't cried at all, not at all. Aren't 
you glad, mother?" His mother turned to him and looked so 
lovingly upon her little son and — then she smiled and said, 
"That was fine of you, my own little boy, you may be sure that 
I am glad," and she patted his head affectionately. 

You may well imagine that Hans was overjoyed. He had 
made his mother smile and be glad over her little boy. He left 
the room quietly, he had succeeded in doing what he wished to 
do. — But what Hans could do yesterday when his mother was 
sick, he of course can do to-day when she is much better, and he 
can do it every day hereafter. And finally he will think that 
the bitter medicine tastes quite good — don't you think he will ? 
— for love makes everything easy. Now there is no longer any 
crying when he takes his medicine, and — who knows ? — per- 
haps soon he will not need to take any more of it, for just that 
very reason. 

That is the way it all happened when little Hans learned to 
take his medicine. It was his love to his mother that taught 
him how to take it. 

It was love that taught our Saviour in the garden of Geth- 



— 7 — 
semane to say, "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from 
me: nevertheless not my will, but thine be done' , (Luke 22.42). 
It was love that taught the Christians in Caesarea to say, "The 
will of the Lord be done" (Acts 21.14). 

It is love that will teach us to pray aright the third petition 
in the Lord's Prayer (Matt. 6.10). 



The Snow Prayer 



Ps. 51.10. "Create in me a clean heart, O God!' 

Have you ever really observed how beautiful the snow is? 
A few years ago there were two little boys from distant India, 
who came over to England. They had never seen any snow. 
So one morning when they saw the ground and the trees covered 
with hoar-frost and snow, they came running, clapped their 
hands, and cried, "See, how pretty, how pretty!" 

Yes, the snow is beautiful. David had noticed this; for in 
his one hundred and forty-seventh Psalm he says, "He giveth 
snow like wool; he scattereth hoar-frost like ashes." It was 
David, too, who first said the snow prayer. "The snow prayer? 
What is that?" you ask. Listen, and you shall hear. 

There was once a little girl who was out playing in the snow. 
But all of a sudden she came in with glowing cheeks and out 
of breath. She was in such a hurry that she forgot to sweep 
the snow from her feet. She ran right up to her mother and 
cried, "O mother, you can't imagine how beautiful it is out of 
doors! I couldn't help it; I fell upon my knees right in the 
snow and said the snow prayer." "The snow prayer? What 
is that?" "Why, mother! Have you forgotten it? Our teacher 
told us the other day that we must never forget that prayer. 



— 8 — 

The snow prayer is the prayer of King David : 'Wash me, and 
I shall be whiter than snow.' Do you not remember it, mother ?" 

The snow prayer is a beautiful prayer, isn't it? You will 
find it in the fifty-first Psalm. 

"Wash me" Imagine this: King David, old as he is, prays 
the Lord to wash him clean. For all he is so old, and for all 
he is so mighty, he is not able himself to wash away his sins so 
that he may be clean. He must ask the Lord to wash him, just 
as your mother washed you when you were little children. If 
David could not wash himself, neither can you wash yourselves. 
You cannot wash clean your unclean hearts ; for sin is a disease 
of the heart. Every day you must pray, "Wash me, O Lord." 
The leper prayed in the same way, "Lord, if thou wilt, thou 
canst make me clean" (Matt. 8.2). And the publican prayed, 
"God, be thou merciful to me, a sinner" (Luke 18.13). 

"And I shall be whiter than snow." Think of it, — whiter 
than snow! Have you ever seen anything whiter than new- 
fallen snow? No, but our hearts will be whiter than snow, if 
we permit the Lord to wash them clean every day. 

There was another little girl by the name of Mary, who also 
had learned to pray. Every morning and evening she would 
kneel beside her bed and pray out of a full heart. One morning 
her grandmother happened to be in the next room, but Mary 
did not know that she was there. Grandma saw the little girl 
kneeling; so when Mary came into the next room, she asked, 
"What were you praying for, Mary?" "Did you see me, grand- 
ma? I have two prayers, which I say every morning. Mother 
taught me one, the other I have made by myself; and the one 
that I have taught myself makes it possible for me to be good 
to-day." — The Lord's answer to the prayer she had taught her- 
self, the prayer of her heart, consisted in this that He gave her 
the power to be good. 

Matt. 5.8. "Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see 
God." 



— 9 — 

The Bible 

Ps. 1 19.162. "I rejoice at thy word, as one that findeth great 
spoil." 

The Bible is God the Father's letter to His children. How 
happy a child is when it receives a letter from its earthly father ! 
A child of God ! Are you as happy over the letter from your 
heavenly Father as David was? 

There was once a little blind girl. She was admitted into 
an institute for the blind. There she learned to read, as the 
blind do, by moving her fingers over raised letters. When she 
left the institute and returned home, the superintendent gave 
her a copy of the Gospel according to St. Luke. She was 
delighted to read in this dear book of the Saviour's love. Then 
the little girl became very ill. A long, long time she was con- 
fined to her bed, and to read was out of the question. Finally, 
however, she became better, and the first thing she called for 
was her dear book. 

It was brought to her, but she began at once to weep bitterly. 
During her long sickness she had lost the sense of feeling in her 
fingers. How she wept! Now she could never, never again 
read the letter from her Father. — "But if I cannot see it, and 
cannot read it, I can at least press it devoutly to my lips," she 
thought. Suddenly her mother heard her shout with joy. In 
her lips there was still the delicate sense of feeling, — she could 
read it with her lips. 



— IO- 



What is the End? 

I Peter 1.9. "The end of your faith, even the salvation of 
your souls" 

A mother was sitting at the sick-bed of her little child. The 
child had been very sick but was now better. The mother's 
eyes were bent upon the child as it lay sleeping. "What then 
shall this child be?" was her unspoken thought. Then she fell 
asleep and dreamed, and her dream was a continuation of her 
waking thoughts. 

She saw the future of her child. 

She saw her child as a bright little boy of five or six years of 
age. He was playing on the lawn, happy and contented. But 
suddenly he cast aside his playthings and ran up to his mother, 
who was sitting on the veranda. He looked strangely tired and 
dissatisfied. He laid his head upon his mother's knee. "Mother, 
I am so tired of playing. Shall I always be playing? Mother, 
is this the end and purpose of my life?" — "No, my child, you 
shall soon go to school and be a wise and good little man. That 
is the end." 

She saw her child as a youth of fifteen or sixteen years. He 
had come home to spend his vacation. He looked very tired. 
Just as in his childhood he now nestled close to his mother. 
"Mother, if you only knew how tired I am of going to school. 
Shall I always go to school? Mother, is this the end and pur- 
pose of my life?" — "No, my child, you surely know that this 
is not the end. Now you are to go forth into the world, become 
famous, and make your fortune — this is the end." 

She saw her child as a man of wealth, well known and re- 
spected. He lay upon his death-bed. The physician had just 
visited him and had said there was no hope. His mother sat 
weeping at his bedside. There was upon her son's face the old 



II 



expression of weariness which she remembered so well from his 
early childhood and youth. He looked into his mother's eyes 
and whispered, "Mother, now I am about to die; I am afraid 
to die. Mother, is this the end and purpose of my life?" 

"No, no," replied his mother between her sobs. Now she 
endeavored to speak to her child of Him who came to save 
sinners from death and the judgment. But he would not listen. 
He looked with an expression of horror upon his mother and 
said, "Mother, why did you not ever speak to me about the end 
and purpose of life? Everything that you said was so wise; 
everything was so loving ; but it was all worldly — all of it — 
worldly and only worldly. And now I am dying. Mother, 
you never taught me how to die. Mother, mother, why did you 
never speak to me about the end?" 

She awoke. There lay her little child smiling upon her. 
Weeping, the mother fell upon her knees. She awoke in that 
hour to a new life. She came to a full realization of the end 
and purpose of life, and she sought diligently to teach her child 
to love the Child in Bethlehem, the Man on Golgotha; for this 
is the end and purpose of our earthly life. 



Found 

John 1.4 1. "We have found the Messiah!' 

A French preacher tells the following story. 

One day I went to the railway station for the purpose of 
taking a train to a neighboring city. Just as I was about to 
enter the coach, a j^oung man quite out of breath from running 
stopped me. His parents were pious people who lived in the 
city to which I was going. "Will you please greet my parents 



— 12 — 

from me?" he said. "Yes, indeed, I shall do so with pleasure," 
I answered, and climbed up on the platform. "And tell them 
also. . ." The engineer gave the signal for departure. "And 
tell them also..." The train began to move. "Well, what 
shall I tell them?" I asked somewhat impatiently. "Oh, tell 
them," he said with tears of joy in his eyes, "tell them that I 
have found my Saviour!" That was the best greeting beyond 
all question that the parents could possibly receive from their 
son. 

* * * 

In the city of Basle, Switzerland, a great mission festival is 
celebrated each year. At one of these festivals ten young men 
were to be consecrated as missionaries to the heathen. A 
preacher approached the young men and asked each one of them 
in turn, "Have you found your Saviour?" All answered yes, 
until he came to the last. This young man answered no. The 
preacher was astounded. "No," said the young man, "it was 
not I who found the Saviour, but it was the Saviour who 
found me." 

Luke 15.5. "And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his 
shoulders, rejoicing." 



The Three Enemies 

Matt. 6.13. "And bring us not into temptation/' 

You have all heard about David. Open your Bible and read 
the seventeenth chapter of the first book of Samuel, and you 
will see that when David was a young man he tended sheep in 
the pasture lands about Bethlehem. David was a good shep- 
herd; he loved his sheep. 



— 13 — 

One day a lion came out of the forest and seized a lamb. Do 
you think that David ran away ? No ; in the name of the Lord 
he went against the lion and, at the risk of his own life, snatched 
the lamb out of the lion's mouth. 

On another occasion a bear came and dragged away one of 
the lambs. It was no easy task, as you will understand, to be 
a shepherd in Judaea. But what did David do now? He ran 
after the bear, and when the bear rose up against him, he 
grappled with the bear and killed it. David risked his life for 
the poor lamb. Why did he risk his life? Because he loved 
the lamb; he loved every single lamb in the whole, large flock. 

Was not David a good shepherd? You will all surely an- 
swer, "Yes, he was # good shepherd." 

But you have heard of another shepherd, one who was a 
much better shepherd than David. 

Jesus is the good shepherd; He loves His sheep ; yes, His love 
includes even the very tiniest lamb. 

On Golgotha He bought you with His own life, — you were 
"bought with a price." In holy baptism you were marked with 
the sign of the cross ; you were baptized to be the lambs of Jesus, 
to be the children of God. Is not Jesus, then, the Good Shep- 
herd? Kneel before Him and give thanks to the Shepherd who 
through baptism made you His own beloved lambs. 

But be on your guard. There are three enemies which lie 
in wait for you to steal you away from the Good Shepherd. 

Beware of the lion, children. 

The apostle Peter says, "Your adversary the devil, as a roaring 
lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour" (i Pet. 5.8). 
The lion is the devil, the lion wishes to devour you. 

Beware of the lion, children. 

But a lamb cannot conquer a lion ; and so you cannot of your 
own strength win a victory over the devil. Therefore you must 
look for help from Him who is mightier than all the power of 
hell, Jesus, the Son of God. "I can do all things in him that 



— 14 — 

*trengtheneth me" (Phil. 4.13). Yes, He will make the weak 
little lamb strong enough to prevail against the great, strong 
lion. 

Beware of the wolf, children. 

Our Lord Jesus says, "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in 
the midst of wolves ,, (Matt. 10.16). 

The wolf is the world. The wolf steals upon you quietly 
and secretly. He wishes to draw you away from God, from 
prayer, from the Word of God, from the Good Shepherd, in 
order that he may gain possession of you for himself so that 
you may become wicked children of the world instead of being 
innocent children of God. 

Beware of the wolf, children. 

But a lamb cannot prevail against a wolf. And so you cannot 
of your own strength prevail against the world. You must, 
therefore, pray for help from Him who is mightier than the 
wolf, Jesus, who said to His lambs, "Be of good cheer; I have 
overcome the world" (John 16.33). 

Beware of the bear, children. 

The apostle Paul says, "I know that in me, that is, in my 
flesh, dwelleth no good thing" (Rom. 7.18). 

The bear is your own sinful nature, the old Adam, as Luther 
calls it. 

The bear, the old Adam, wishes to embrace the new man 
which the Saviour implanted in you in your baptism. But he 
wishes to embrace him only for the purpose of choking him to 
death. He wishes you to do away with prayer, to forget Jesus, 
and to love sin and the sinful lusts of the world. Yes, in a 
thousand ways the bear endeavors to strangle your spiritual life 
by his embrace. 

But a lamb cannot overcome a bear. And so you must not 
think that by your own strength you can gain a victory over 
yourselves. You must, therefore, pray to the Lord Jesus Christ 
to save you from the many, many dangers of the world, and 



— 15 — 

from the wiles of the devil. Pray to the Good Shepherd to 
follow you through all your life's journey and bring you safely 
through all of life's dangers and temptations. He will hear 
your prayer; for He is the Good Shepherd who loves all His 
little lambs. 

I Thess. 5.22. "Abstain from every form of evil." 



More to be Desired than Gold 

Ps. 1 19.18. "Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold won- 
drous things out of thy law!' 

A warm July day a traveler stopped beside a cabin far up in 
Norway. He knocked at the door, as he wished a drink of 
water. After some delay a woman opened the door. Behind 
her were three ragged children, who were curious to get a 
glimpse of the stranger. A mere look at these four human beings 
was sufficient to inform the traveler that in this house poverty, 
disorder, and indolence reigned supreme. 

The man secured a drink of water, and said a few words 
about Jesus to the woman as he was quietly observing the 
wretchedness of the little home. "If these poor people only 
realized what a treasure they have in their house," he said softly 
to himself as he was taking his leave. — The woman stood as 
if the lightning had fallen. 

"Why didn't you ask him where it was, you dunce?" said her 
husband angrily, when she had told him of the stranger's words. 

"Oh, I shall surely find it!" she replied. 

She spent the whole evening looking for the treasure, and 
turned everything upside down in her search. She dreamed of 
the treasure during the night. The next day she continued the 



— i6 — 

search. When her husband came home at noon, there was no 
dinenr prepared. Scolding and swearing, he left the house and 
went to the saloon. But the woman still continued the search. 

Towards evening she sat down in despair, and it was with no 
friendly feelings that she thought of the stranger. Then her 
eye fell upon a shelf under the roof over in the corner. There 
lay a large heap of odds and ends. As she had looked into 
everything else she thought she might as well look into this also. 
And there she found the treasure. She discovered a large, thick 
book. As she was wiping the dust from it, the book fell upon 
the floor. It was a Bible, the Bible her pious mother had given 
her when she was confirmed. There it lay now upon the floor 
and was open at the first page. On this page was her own name, 
written by her mother, and under the name were the words: 
"More to be desired than gold" (Ps. 19.11). 

When the woman saw these w T ords, she fell into deep thought. 
She thought of her childhood, when she sat on her mother's 
knee and heard the story of Him who left His heavenly home 
and became homeless in this world — . Happy days, but oh ! 
how far aw T ay they seemed. And now — nothing but poverty, 
filth, and angry words from morning till night. And why? 
Like a flash of lightning the thought came into her mind: this 
book was the source of all her mother's joy. Her mother fre- 
quently said so. It was this book to which the stranger referred ; 
this book was the treasure. 

Ashamed of the disorder and untidiness of the room — it had 
been quite otherwise in her mother's house — , she began to put 
things in order, to sweep, and to dust. When her husband came 
home, she had a warm meal prepared for him and the children 
were neat and clean. The woman met every expression of ill 
temper on the part of her husband with quiet patience. This 
was not usually the case. She did not, however, breathe a word 
about the treasure. When all the others had gone to bed, she 
brought out again the old Bible and opened it at random. The 



— 17 — 

finger of the Lord directed her to the fifteenth chapter of the 
Gospel according to St. Luke. She simply swallowed the words. 
She was the lost piece of silver; she was the prodigal child. 
Weeping she fell upon her knees and prayed, "Lord, have mercy 
upon me." — In the morning again her first thought was of the 
Bible. 

Days passed by. Her husband was very much surprised over 
the transformation that his wife had undergone. He had not 
even thought of the stranger and his words about the treasure. 

But one evening when the children were all in their beds, 
the woman took her sewing and seated herself beside her hus- 
band. "Do you remember, John, what I told you once about 
the man who came here for a glass of water and said that there 
was a treasure in our house ?" Yes, John had a faint recollec- 
tion of the matter. 

"John, I have found the treasure!" John looked at his wife 
and was surprised to see the joy and happiness in her face. 

She arose and took the old Bible from its shelf, — it was not 
covered with dust now, you may well imagine. "See, John, 
here is surely the treasure; see what is written here: 

'More to be desired than gold/ 

"This Bible I received from my mother; she herself wrote 
those words; and I know that it was Jesus who by means of 
this book made my mother the happy and contented woman she 
was." 

John was plainly disappointed, and it looked as if a storm 
were gathering; for he had expected something quite different 
when his wife began to speak about the treasure. But she moved 
her chair closer to him ; her eyes were filled with tears ; she put 
her arm about his neck and whispered, "John, if this book makes 
me as good a wife and as good a mother as she was, then it 
really is 'more to be desired than gold.' I have determined to 
give it a trial and see if it really can bring about such a result ; 
and, John, I think you ought to give it a trial too." 



John remained silent, but new and strange thoughts began 
to revolve in his mind. His wife continued, "What a wretched 
wife I have been ! But with the grace of God I shall be a better 
one from this day forward." 

John was deeply moved at his wife's words. He looked about 
the room. You would scarcely recognize it, so complete had 
been its transformation from filth and disorder to cleanliness 
and cosiness. "Here is my hand, Mary. If you have been a 
wretched wife, I too have been a wretched husband. I will 
join you in making the trial.' , 

That evening they read together for the first time a chapter 
from the old book. She read and he listened. When she came 
to the words, "To-day is salvation come to this house" (Luke 
19.9), her emotion made it impossible to read any further; she 
must fall upon her knees and give expression to her joy in 
praise and thanksgiving to God. 

The day came when husband and wife could both praise God 
for having brought them back to His fold. Such results can be 
brought about by the Saviour, the Good Shepherd, through the 
Bible, the Word of God. Is it not, then, "more to be desired 
than gold"? 

Ps. 19.10. "More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than 
much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the droppings of 
the honeycomb." 



The Pearl of Great Price 

Isa. 55.1. "Come, buy without money and without price" 

There was some years ago in the city of Copenhagen a young 
man who, like so many young men, had no place in his life for 
Jesus. However, he had of late begun to be concerned about 



— 19 — 

the salvation of his soul. Then he had a wonderful experience, 
for the age of wonders has not yet entirely passed away. 

"I dreamed," he wrote in his diary, which was found among 
his possessions after his death, "that I came into a singing house. 
There stood a man with a golden jewelry case full of sparkling 
jewels, which he offered to the people. He prayed and begged 
them to come and take from the case all the precious gems which 
it contained. There was enough for all; all might come and 
take as much as they desired." 

Time passed on and he had nearly forgotten his dream. But 
one Sunday it occurred to him that he ought to go and hear 
the Reverend Frimodt, who was at that time a very popular 
preacher. He went. The service had already begun, and as 
he opened the door he was filled with awe at the mighty power 
of the choral singing which filled the temple. This was the 
singing house he had seen in his dream. And when the singing 
ceased and he saw the preacher go up into the pulpit, lo ! it was 
the very man he had seen in his dream. And when Frimodt 
testified of God's unmerited grace through Jesus Christ and 
besought his hearers to come and buy without money and with- 
out price that which would make their hearts rich, then the 
young man understood the meaning of the jewelry case filled 
with jewels. 

It was therefore not strange that his heart was opened to 
receive grace through Jesus Christ and that he followed the 
example of the merchant who found a pearl of great price, and 
who went and sold all that he had and bought it. 

In his hour of death he blessed Frimodt, who had persuaded 
him to accept the priceless pearl of eternal life. 

Matt. 13.45, 46. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto 
a man that is a merchant seeking goodly pearls: and having 
found one pearl of great price, he went and sold all that he had, 
and bought it." 



— 20 — 

Your Father is Waiting for You 

A young girl was at home with her mother. She had a 
pleasant home, a fact which she did not then realize, though 
the day came when she did realize it. But life to her in her 
home seemed too narrow and insipid ; she wished to get out into 
the world and enjoy her freedom, even as many another young 
boy or girl. She found employment in the city. Her letters 
to her mother became less and less frequent. Her mother wept 
often when no letter had come for a long time. But when at 
length a letter would come, the mother wept still more bitterly, 
because she could plainly see by it that her daughter had become 
a child of this world, and that is the heaviest of all sorrows that 
can come to a God-fearing mother. — Finally the letters ceased 
coming entirely, but through friends in the city the poor mother 
learned that her daughter had fallen; but they could give her 
no information as to her daughter's present whereabouts. The 
mother nearly gave way to despair. She loved her daughter 
so tenderly, and it almost seemed as if she loved her more now 
in her great extremity. She made her way to the city to seek 
her erring child. She sought day and night, but in vain. 

Then an idea occurred to her. She had her picture taken 
and hung the picture in the waiting room of a Magdalena home, 
a refuge for fallen women. Under the picture she wrote the 
words : 

"Your mother is waiting for you." 

Then she returned home. 

Many women looked at the picture, but no one knew the 
poor mother whose picture it was. One evening a young woman 
came in. She gazed for a long time upon the picture. Then 
she said, "It is my mother, my mother !" It was the same face 
that had beamed upon her when she lay in her cradle. It was 
then happy and full of joy; now it was furrowed and sad. And 



— 21 — 

she herself — then her eye was pure ; now she must cast her 
eyes to the ground from shame. She had wished to be free, but 
she had become the slave of sin. 

But — "Your mother is waiting for you" stood there before 
her. Her mother, therefore, had not forgotten her, the poor, 
homeless, beguiled and fallen daughter. It seemed to her that 
the lips in the picture were moving and whispering, "Come 
home, erring child, come home. Your mother loves you and 
forgives you all, all!' 

The sight of her mother's picture had melted the ice in her 
heart and aroused in her soul a longing for home. She made 
the venture. Full of sorrow and shame she returned to her 
home. Mother and daughter fell into each other's arms. Now 
she remained at home. 

"Your Father is waiting for you." 

These words are written upon the cross where the Son of 
God died for your sins ; these words are implied in the Saviour's 
institution of baptism; yes, these words are written everywhere 
throughout Holy Scriptures. If you have wandered into paths 
which have led you astray, do as the poor girl did. She trusted 
to her mother's love and came home. 

Luke 15.20. "And he arose, and came to his father. But 
while he was yet far off, his father saw him, and was moved 
with compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." 



His Worst Enemy 

A man who was a devout Christian once had the following 
dream. 

He was standing in a large and beautiful room brilliantly 
illuminated. Beside him stood a figure all in white, — an angel. 



— 22 — 

At one end of the room was a large mirror, reaching from floor 
to ceiling. The angel turning to him asked, "Do you wish to 
see your best friend?" Whom do you suppose the man then 
saw? He saw Jesus. And he could not grow weary of be- 
holding the image of his Saviour in the mirror. But the image 
disappeared, and the angel asked again, "Do you now wish to 
see your worst enemy?" Can you guess whom he saw? The 
devil? No. He saw himself. 

Rom. 7.18. "For I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, 
dwelleth no good thing." 



Of What are You most Afraid? 

Because of his fearless witnessing for Christ, Chrysostom had 
incurred the displeasure of the emperor Arcadius. 

"How can I punish him most effectively ?" the emperor asked 
his courtiers. 

"Exile him," said one. "Deprive him of his property," said 
another. "Put him in prison," said a third. "Behead him," 
said a fourth. 

But the fifth courtier said, "No. This is all insufficient. 
You are all mistaken. This man cannot be punished in any 
such way as you have suggested. If you exile him, O Emperor, 
he will still have with him, wherever he goes, his God ; and this 
is to him fatherland and happiness. If you deprive him of his 
property, you will be punishing the poor; for he shares with 
the poor everything which he has. If you put him in chains, 
he will welcome them; for imprisonment will give him oppor- 
tunity to commune unceasingly with God. If you put him to 
death, you will merely be opening for him the gates of heaven. 



— 23 — 

"No, if you wish to punish him effectively and to do him a 
real injury, you must beguile him into sin. He fears but one 
thing: to sin against his God." 

Ps. 86.ii. "Unite my heart to fear thy name." 



Loss or Gain 

A number of persons of the worldly-wise kind were once 
discussing the loss which a man sustains when he becomes a 
Christian. They agreed that it was a loss to become a God- 
fearing man. A Christian laborer sat listening to their con- 
versation. Finally he said calmly, "Yes; you are surely right; 
he who becomes a child of God loses a great deal." The others 
looked at him in astonishment. They had not imagined that 
he, a Christian, would agree with them. 

"Yes," the man continued, "you are surprised at what I say. 
But, really, I myself have lost much in becoming a Christian. 
I have lost my whisky, I have lost my ragged coat, I have lost 
my evil conscience. You are right, a man does lose much when 
he becomes a child of God." 

Phil. 3.7. "What things were gain to me, these have I 
counted loss for Christ." 



Lord, have Mercy upon Me 

A pious man was once traveling in Switzerland. He asked 
one of the young women servants in a hotel where he was 
lodging if she prayed. She answered quite curtly, "In this place 
we have so much to do that we have no time for prayer." 



— 24 — 

The stranger said, "I shall teach you a good prayer directly 
from the Bible. The prayer was heard and answered the first 
time it was uttered, and it is short. Here it is: 'Lord, have 
mercy upon me.' Promise me that you will repeat these words 
every morning and every evening." 

She promised that she would do so, and — she kept her 
promise. 

A couple of years passed by. The traveler, it happened, re- 
turned to the same hotel. He inquired for the young woman. 

"She was too good for this place which is frequented by so 
many worldly-minded people. She is now employed at the par- 
sonage." 

The traveler w T ent to the parsonage and there he met the 
young woman. 

With tears in her eyes she told him that she had at first 
uttered the words of the prayer in a perfectly thoughtless man- 
ner. But gradually she had begun to think: "Why should God 
have mercy upon me? Am I not good? Am I not happy?" 
When she thought seriously upon these questions, she found 
that she must answer them with a No. Then her prayer became 
warm and fervent. The Lord did have mercy upon her, and 
she found peace. 

Matt. 15.22. "Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of 
David." 



The Thing most Precious 

A missionary in India once visited a poor heathen Hindoo 
woman. She showed him her two children, a boy and a girl. 
The girl was blind. The mother was deeply troubled and won- 
dered how she could appease her gods. The missionary spoke 
to her of Him who gave that which was most precious to Him, 
His only Son, as a propitiation for the sin of the world. 



— 25 — 

After a time the missionary again visited the Hindoo woman. 
The poor woman seemed to be still more deeply troubled. The 
missionary noticed that there was now but one child to be seen, 
the little blind girl lying in the cradle. When he asked where 
the little boy was, the mother burst into tears. "My boy, my 
beloved boy!" she cried, "I threw him into the Ganges to 
appease the gods." Horrified, the missionary for a long time 
was unable to speak. Finally he said, "But if you must needs 
give one of your children as a sacrifice to your gods, why did 
you not choose your little girl, who is sick and blind?" 

"Why?" cried the poor mother. "Because the gods must 
have that which is most precious." 

What the poor heathen woman here said in her spiritual 
blindness, we whose eyes have been opened to see the love of 
God in Christ Jesus should certainly say: "God must always 
have that which is the most precious." 

But what is this most precious thing, — the only thing 
which we can give to God? Solomon gives us the answer in 
Proverbs 23.26: "My son, give me thy heart." 

I shall tell you a story of the thing most precious. 

An angel stood outside of heaven's gate. God the Father 
had said to the little angel, "Fly down to the earth and seek 
that which is most precious. And when you have found it, 
come back ; and heaven's gate will be opened for you again, that 
you may enter." 

And the angel descended to the earth. He flew about for 
days, for weeks, but he could not find the thing most precious. 
What he found everywhere was sin. Sad at heart he continued 
his search and flew on and on, for he longed to return to the 
kingdom of heaven whence he had come. He flew through a 
great city. It was night ; but few people were upon the streets, 
and in those few the angel could see only that which was evil. 
Then he happened to see a light shining bright and clear in 



— 26 — 

the upper story of a large house. He flew to the window, and 
what do you suppose he saw? 

There sat a mother at the bedside of her sick child. She 
was filled with sorrow; it was her only child. She fell upon 
her knees and prayed the Lord to spare the life of her only 
child; it was all she possessed on earth. She seated herself 
again at the bedside and all night long watched over her poor, 
sick child. Hour followed hour in slow succession. The child's 
breathing became fainter and fainter. When the first beams of 
the morning sun entered through the window they fell upon 
the body of a child whose spirit had fled. Tears streamed from 
the mother's eyes. 

"Now I have found the thing most precious," thought the 
little angel. Very gently he passed his hand over the mother's 
cheek and gathered some of the tears. With them in his hand 
he flew up to heaven's gate and knocked. But the Lord said 
to him, "Yes, indeed, the tears which a mother sheds in love 
and sorrow over her child are beautiful and precious. But they 
still are not the thing most precious. Fly down to the earth 
and find the thing most precious." 

The little angel became very sad ; he wished to enter and stay 
within heaven's gate. 

Again he descended to the earth. He flew through the big 
cities, he flew through the villages ; he visited the children in 
the schools, and found here carelessness, laziness, and deceit. 
Everywhere he found that which was worst, nowhere the best, 
the most precious. — Then one day he flew over a vast desert. 
He saw but two human beings there, a young man and a young 
woman. They appeared terrified. The angel drew near to 
learn the reason for their distress. The young man lay upon 
the ground ; he had been bitten by a snake and but little of life 
remained for him. His eyes, expressive of deepest anguish, 
rested upon the woman who knelt beside him; not a word, not 
a sigh escaped his lips. The woman's sorrow, also, was too deep 



— 27 — 

for words. They had looked into the future with such hope 
and courage; now she must say farewell forever to him whom 
she loved so dearly. He was thinking of what her lot would 
be now that he was about to die, and these thoughts made death 
all the more bitter for him. 

Suddenly the young woman bowed down and with the energy 
of despair sucked the poison from her husband's wound. His 
life was saved, but she was doomed to death. And as she lay 
dying, she looked upon him in loving tenderness, happy in the 
knowledge that she died that he might live. 

A tear fell upon the dying woman's cheek. This tear the 
little angel took, and with it winged his flight to heaven's gate. 
Now he was happy, for surely he had found the thing most 
precious. He knocked at the gate. But the voice of the Lord 
sounded through the gate: "Yes, that which you hold in your 
hand is beautiful and good. It is indeed noble to sacrifice one's 
life for others, but it is nevertheless not the noblest, the best, 
nor the most precious thing of all. No, little angel, fly down 
to the earth again and seek and seek ; somewhere you will surely 
find the most precious thing of all." 

The little angel was very sad as he again turned toward the 
earth. He would much rather have remained in heaven. He 
now flew into the palace of the king, he flew into the hut of 
the poor peasant, he flew into the place where the aged were 
gathered together, he flew into the midst of the young — always 
he found the opposite of what he sought, never what he sought. 

Gloomy and disheartened the little angel flew over a meadow. 
He had just visited the market-place of a great city and he was 
sad at heart over all the wickedness he had witnessed there. 
But as he now was flying over the meadow, he chanced to see 
something which caused him to stop at once. 

You shall hear what it was he saw. 

An aged man was sitting on the grass. His face bore the 
marks of a life spent in sin. Beside him a little boy, happy and 



— 28 — 

gay, was romping about. The old man sat watching the child 
at his play. Suddenly the thought occurred to him : "You, too, 
were once just such a child as this, innocent and gay; but that 
was all long, long ago." His thoughts went back to his child- 
hood with all its innocence and joy; they came to his youth 
when he had taken his first steps on the way of darkness with 
all its consequent confusion and sin. His heart was strangely 
moved. His thoughts moved on to the days of his manhood 
with all its indifference, unbelief, and worldly lusts. Tears 
began to trickle down the furrows of his cheeks. How glad 
would he be to live his life again, to be a child once more! 
Then there arose before his inner eye the image of Him, the 
Son of God, who had loved him to the death, while he, the old 
man, had loved the world and had despised the loving Saviour. 
With a shattered heart he fell upon his knees and, even as the 
Prodigal Son, prayed his Father for grace and mercy, prayed for 
a new heart, prayed for forgiveness for a misspent life, and 
prayed also for the little child, that the Lord might preserve 
him and keep him His own. It was a prayer that came from 
the depths of a repentant heart; therefore it penetrated to the 
heart of God. 

The little angel became jubilant; now he certainly had found 
the thing most precious. Gently he gathered two tears from 
the cheeks of the aged man to carry them up to God the Father. 
Ah ! they were heavy, those tears, — heavy as lead. But desire 
makes light wings, and almost at once the little angel stood 
before the gate of heaven. The gate opened immediately of its 
own accord; it was not necessary for the angel even to knock. 
Within the angels were already tuning their harps that through- 
out the kingdom of heaven there might resound the song, "A 
sinner that was lost has been saved." And God the Father 
said, "Come in, my little angel, now you have found the thing 
most precious." 

Now you know what the thing most precious is. It is the 



— 29 — 

tears which come from a broken, contrite heart. These tears 
are precious in the sight of the Lord. 

Ps. 51.17. "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a 
broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. " 



How Shall Ye Escape? 

"How shall ye escape the judgment of hell?" This is the 
question which the Lord Jesus once asked the Pharisees (Matt. 

23.33). 

I shall tell you the story of a young woman who escaped the 
judgment of hell. 

In a city in the northern part of England there was one night 
a large dinner party. It differed from the wedding feast at 
Cana in the respect that Jesus had not been invited to this party. 
The guests were happy and gay, they danced and sang and 
played cards. But there was darkness in their hearts, for the 
jolly company consisted of people who were the children of un- 
belief. In a corner of the room a little girl, nine years of age, 
was seated at a table. She sat listening to the conversation 
of the older people, but as this became tiresome to her she began 
to look into the books lying upon the table beside her. Among 
those books was a large, illustrated Bible. She opened it and 
her eyes could not turn away from what she saw there. It was 
a picture representing death and Hades as being cast into the 
lake of fire. The little girl had heard in school of Hades and 
the lake of fire; now the picture showed to her very eyes how 
terrible it was. The guests round about her were singing and 
playing and laughing, but the little girl could not take her eyes 
from the picture. A flash as of lightning from heaven fell into 



— 30 — 

her heart at this moment: the judgment of hell. She saw it 
before her in all its frightfulness and her soul was filled with 
unspeakable horror. What if all these people who were joking 
and laughing round about her were to be cast into the burning 
lake! 

She could not keep this thought to herself. "I believe," she said 
to her mother, "that we shall all be cast into the burning lake." 

The child had spoken these words in so loud a voice that not 
only her mother but nearly every one in the room had heard 
them. It seemed as a voice from God, which pierced the hearts ; 
and to be sure it was a voice from heaven. Surprised, astounded, 
and vexed, they all fixed their eyes upon the little girl. "Nerv- 
ousness," was the general opinion; and in a few moments the 
disagreeable interruption was forgotten. 

But the little girl did not forget it. Years passed by. The 
child had grown into womanhood. Life, bright and cloudless, 
lay before her; she was young, beautiful, and wealthy. But on 
the distant horizon she could always see the storm-cloud of judg- 
ment about to rise, and over and over again the insistent ques- 
tion pressed itself upon her, "How shall you escape the judg- 
ment of hell?" 

But she could not find the answer. 

She went to church every Sunday, she tried to overcome some 
of her faults, she engaged in work of charity and benevolence; 
in this way she thought she might escape. But she did not find 
peace; on the contrary her uneasiness steadily increased. 

Finally she became tired of it all. She determined upon a 
new course, by which she hoped she might forget the judgment 
of hell. She plunged into a whirl of gayeties ; balls and dinner 
parties claimed all her attention, and everywhere she was ad- 
mired for her beauty and good taste. But she could not dance 
away the unrest in her soul; always before her eyes stood the 
terrible vision of the judgment of hell. How should she escape? 
— Thus several years passed by. 



— 31 — 

It was a beautiful summer evening at one of England's most 
popular summer resorts at the seaside. Along the shore two 
ladies were promenading, engaged in earnest conversation. One 
of these ladies was our friend who as a little girl had seen the 
picture of the judgment of hell. Her dress was elegant, but her 
weary eyes betraj^ed a soul without peace. She had never been 
able to forget the judgment of hell, but the enemy of her soul 
had now suggested to her another means of escape. 

For even if she could not forget, she could at least cease to 
believe that there was a heaven or a hell. And it was this 
matter that she was discussing with her friend this beautiful 
summer evening. She insisted that there was no one who could 
prove to her that there was a God or a judgment after death. 
But back of her bold words there was a trembling heart that 
could not cease to believe in the things which her lips even now 
were denying. And in the peaceful twilight of the summer 
evening her friend pleaded earnestly with her to seek Him whom 
God had sent into the world that we, the children of men, 
might escape the judgment to come. 

All that she said seemed to be in vain; the young woman 
maintained her position. One thing, however, her friend could 
do, and this she did. She prayed to God in behalf of the un- 
happy young woman's soul. And now you shall hear how God 
hears the prayer of faith. 

The young woman became more and more disturbed. Evil 
deeds, untruthful words, sins which she had long ago forgotten 
or had never considered of any consequence now appeared out 
of the hidden depths of the past and confronted her accusingly. 
This question deprived her of all peace: "If the Bible really 
is the word of God, how shall I escape?" And to this question 
she could give but one answer: "If the Bible really is the word 
of God, my lot will be to be cast into the burning lake." She 
could never rid herself of this terrible "If, if." She was suf- 
fering the keenest spiritual distress. She could not realize, she 



— 32 — 

did not know, that the God who had given her as a little child 
an insight into the judgment was seeking His child that had 
gone astray. 

One winter evening she was walking down the street in the 
little city where she lived. The large mission-house which she 
had often passed by with indifference was brilliantly illuminated. 
She saw a throng of people, men and women of the poorer sort, 
entering it. She felt that she too must enter ; an invisible power 
semmed to urge her on. She seated herself in an out-of-the-way 
corner. The preacher arose, opened the Bible, and read the 
fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, that wonderful prophecy of the 
living Son of God, the object of men's derision and contempt. 

"Have you seen Him, ,, came the preacher's voice, "the Man 
of Sorrows, whom men despised, yes, considered as naught? 
Are you sad at heart, sick, and bowed with sorrows? He has 
borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. Are you burdened 
and weighed down with sin, come to Him; He was wounded 
for our transgressions, and bruised for our iniquities. Have 
you no peace? The chastisement of our peace was upon Him 
and with His stripes we are healed. Have you hitherto gone 
your own way? Hear what the Lord says through the prophet: 
4 All we like sheep have gone astray ; we have turned every one to 
his own way; and Jehovah hath laid on him the iniquity of us 
all.' Weary and sorrowing soul, do you not see that in Christ 
you will find forgiveness and peace? Why will you longer 
remain in your sins ? Why will you continue in the darkness ?" 

Such was the invitation, simple and straightforward. Over 
in the corner sat the young woman, ashamed and fearful lest 
any one should recognize her; yet weary and sad at heart. 

But here in this place the gospel of Christ's love found 
entrance to her heart. 

Her fear? — it was gone. The darkness? — it had been 
transformed into light. Her sins ? — they were forgiven. She 
was given courage to look up to Him who just for her sake 



— 33 — 
had become a Man of Sorrows, had been stricken, wounded, 
bruised. "He has loved me and has given Himself up for me" 
echoed and reechoed in her soul. A living Saviour stood before 
her and asked her for her heart as the reward of His suffering 
for her. Weary and tortured in soul she had come to the 
mission-house; with the joy of heaven in her heart she went 
away. 

Now she knew how she should escape the judgment of hell. 



A Book without Words 

A book without words? "What a dry, prosy book that must 
be," you think. Well, you may judge for yourself. It was at 
a Christmas Sunday-school festival in the city where I live, that 
I first saw the book without words. In the course of the 
evening, when the candles in the Christmas tree had burned 
out and the little packages of Christmas presents had all been 
opened, the children were yet eagerly awaiting something. What 
do you suppose they were waiting for? They were waiting to 
hear a Christmas story. And all were glad when the pastor 
arose, for now they knew that the story was coming. 

"Now you are to hear a story, children, " said the pastor, "and 
that too the most beautiful story in all the world." The chil- 
dren pricked up their ears and were all attention. "Yes, prick 
up your ears," continued the pastor, "but above all, keep your 
eyes wide open, for now you shall see the story." He put his 
hand into a pocket on the inside of his coat and drew forth a 
thin little book. It was the book without words. He held it up 
so that all could see it. There were four leaves in the book, all 
of different color, but without any words. The children looked 
disappointed. All wondered what this might mean. 

Love Divine. 2. 



i 



— 34 — 

The pastor showed them the first leaf. "What color is this?" 
he asked. "It is black," cried the children in chorus. "But do 
you know what black is a symbol of?" he asked. "Yes," whis- 
pered a little girl, "mamma says that the blackest of all things 
is a sinner." "Your mamma is certainly right, my little girl, 
the sinner is black. But have you ever seen a sinner, little 
children?" "All have sinned, and fall short of the glory of 
God," the children all answered together. 

The pastor then showed them leaf number three. "What 
color is this?" "It is white." "What do you think this color 
— white — is a symbol of ?" All knew, but somehow they did 
not know just how to express it. "Well, I shall give you a 
start," said the pastor. "What must we be, if we are to come 
to Jesus?" "We must be holy, my mother says," whispered 
the little girl again, and her face became red with embarrass- 
ment. "You are a fine little girl, and your mother is a good 
mother," said the pastor and patted the little girPs cheek. "But 
your mother is not the only one who says this ; your mother's 
Saviour says the same thing. He lets His apostle say, 'Follow 
after peace with all men, and the sanctification without which 
no man shall see the Lord.' " 

"Yes, but how is a sinner to become holy, how is the black 
to become white?" This question the children could not answer. 

Then the pastor showed them that he had skipped one leaf 
in the book. "What color is this?" "It is red." "What is 
red a symbol of?" "It is a symbol of the blood of Jesus, for 
'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin/ " "That 
was a correct answer," said the pastor. "How then may a 
sinner be made holy?" "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth 
us from all sin," they all answered with one voice. 

"Now there is but one leaf left," and he showed them the 
last leaf. "How does this look?" "It is of gold." "And what 
is that a symbol of?" "That must be a symbol of heaven," said 
the little girl, "for mamma says that in heaven the streets are 



— 35 — 
all of gold." "Do you all believe this, children?" Yes, they 
all believed it. 

"There now, you have the story, my children; and was it 
not the most beautiful story, telling us how we sinners may 
come to Jesus? Now do not forget the lesson contained in the 
book without words. And in order that you may the more 
surely remember it, open the Book with words, the Bible, when 
you get home, and read the fourteenth and fifteenth verses of 
the seventh chapter of the last book in the Bible, the Revelation 
of John. There you may read about the four colors." 

So the children went home and told their fathers and mothers 
what a good time they had had at their Christmas festival, and 
some of them told over again the most beautiful story in all the 
world. 

Rev. 7. 14, 15. "These are they that come out of the great 
tribulation, and they washed their robes, and made them white 
in the blood of the Lamb." 



Why do You not Love Jesus? 

In a Sunday-school in England it happened one day that a 
little girl said to her teacher, "Please, ma'am, what does it mean 
to be a skeptic? I have often asked the two little girls of a 
neighbor of ours to come with me to our Sunday-school here. 
They would like to come, but they always answer me, 'Our 
father will not let us go; our father is a skeptic. , That must 
be something terrible, ma'am." "Yes, it is very bad," replied 
the teacher. "To be a skeptic is the same as not to love Jesus." 
The little girl nodded her head; now she understood. 

One morning as the little girl was on her way to school, she 



-36- 

happened to see the father of her two little playmates coming 
out of the post office. She looked at him thoughtfully, — he 
was the man, then, who did not love Jesus. She could not resist 
the impulse to run up to him ; she seized him by his coat, looked 
up at him and asked, "Why do you not love Jesus?" 

The man was quite dumbfounded over the strange question; 
he could answer nothing, but he did not become angry. With 
tears in her eyes the little girl repeated her question. He hur- 
ried away without answering. The little missionary was grieved, 
and she said to herself, "Now I must have done something very 
foolish. ,, 

The man entered his office. He began to read the letters he 
had brought from the post office, but the words danced about 
before his eyes. It seemed to him that every letter which he 
opened began with the words, "Why do you not love Jesus?" 
Finally in vexation he cast aside the letters. He began to write, 
but his pen seemed rebellious. Time and again he would re- 
lapse into thought and then to his surprise he would find himself 
writing, "Why, why?" 

He laid away his pen, put on his overcoat, and went out into 
the street. But it was just as bad there. It seemed to him that 
every one he met looked inquiringly at him, "Why do you not 
love Jesus?" 

At last he went home. His two little daughters came running 
to meet him, happy to see him come home so early in the day. 
But to-day he could not endure their presence. It seemed to 
him that he saw in their very eyes a patient reproach and always 
that question, "Why do you not love Jesus?" 

The day proved to be very long; it is not easy to "kick against 
the goad." But he hoped that he could sleep it off during the 
night. In this, however, he was disappointed, for sleep would 
not come to his eyes. 

In the middle of the night he arose, hunted up a Bible and 
opened it at the Gospel of St. John. He began at the begin- 



-37 — 
ning and read continuously to the sixteenth verse of the third 
chapter. When his eyes fell upon these familiar words, "For 
God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal 
life," he fell into deep thought. "Why do you not love Him?" 
was the question that echoed through his soul. He was unable 
to answer. 

That night was a Damascus night for the skeptic. His ex- 
perience was the experience of Saul; amazed and full of fear 
he asked, "What shall I do, Lord?" He fell upon his knees 
and poured out his heart before the Lord. 

And the time came when he could say with Peter, "Lord, 
thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee" (John 
21.17). 



The Richest Man of the City 

"The richest man of the city" was what Mr. Mortensen, 
a merchant, was usually called. People were always talking 
about Mortensen's money, Mortensen's horses, Mortensen's 
villa. Furthermore this same Mortensen went to church every 
Sunday and sat there in his own pew. Also it must be stated 
that seldom did a poor man leave Mr. Mortensen's door empty- 
handed. 

One summer morning Mr. Mortensen was taking a horseback 
ride through the woods near by the city. The day before he had 
entertained a large company at dinner in his home. Many 
speeches had been made, in which the praise of the richest man 
of the city had been splendidly expressed. He rode into a 
thicket. There his ear caught an indistinct sound of a human 
voice. He stopped his horse and quietly bent aside a few 



-38- 

branches of the trees. What does he see? There upon his 
knees was an old man. It was the deaf old woodcutter, the 
poorest man in the city, Mr. Mortensen knew him very well. 
The old man was kneeling, his head bare, his tattered hat held 
in his folded hands. Beside him was his breakfast, — a crust 
of bread and a vessel with water. Bread and water, nothing 
else! And still he is giving thanks to God! A contented smile 
plays upon his wrinkled face. How could he be so happy? Not 
even Mr. Mortensen himself, the rich man, was so happy. 

The rich man rode on. He tried to forget what he had seen, 
but continually a voice within him whispered, "This man is 
happier than you. He gives thanks for a piece of dry bread. " 

Gradually he was seized by a strange feeling of dread and 
anxiety. Yesterday he had been praised as the richest man of 
the city; now it seemed as if some one was whispering, "To- 
night the richest man of the city will die. Thou shalt die." 
A shudder pierced him through and through. He thought of 
the Bible's own words, "Thou foolish one, this night is thy soul 
required of thee" (Luke 12.20). 

The richest man of the city who was about to die — this was 
himself ! Riches, friends, — all he was to leave. Die — and 
what then? Heaven or hell? The cold sweat trickled down 
his face. Another Bible passage occurred to him, "For what 
shall a man be profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and 
forfeit his life?" (Matt. 16.26). 

The day seemed very long ; nowhere could he find peace. The 
evening came. Night came. His fear and anxiety increased, 
for death was drawing nearer and nearer. He tried to prepare 
for death, but it was impossible for him to think consistently. 
He saw himself already before the judgment seat of God. Hour 
after hour he heard the steeple clock strike. It sounded in his 
ears like the trumpet of the judgment, — "The richest man — 
of the city — die." "What a fool I really have been!" 



— 39 — 

But the night passed and the sun cast its first beams through 
his window. 

He still lived! He could scarcely believe it. He arose and 
dressed. How pale he was ! When he came out into the street, 
one of his employees met him and asked, "Have you heard that 
old Anders, the woodcutter, died during the night?" 

Without answering he entered his office. Everything swam 
before him. He could yet see before him the poor man kneeling 
out there in the woods. So, then, it was this man who scarcely 
had food enough for the day, — it was he who was the richest 
man of the city. 

The woodcutter died without leaving enough property to pay 
for his own funeral, but he died in peace. 

"Hearken, my beloved brethren; did not God choose them 
that are poor as to the world to be rich in faith, and heirs of 
the kingdom which he promised to them that love him?" (James 
2.5). 



John Three Sixteen 

Is. 1 1.6. "A little child shall lead them/' 

It was a dark winter night in the streets of Dublin. A little 
boy — a poor little wretch, without home or friends — was 
moving stealthily past the long rows of houses. It was bitterly 
cold and his ragged clothes gave him but scant protection against 
the severity of the weather. Finally he sat down and huddled 
up on a stone staircase. It seemed that he was waiting for some- 
one. Yes, he was waiting, poor little fellow; for young as he 
was he had already entered upon evil ways. He had become 
a member of a gang of thieves. Now he was waiting for the 



— 40 — 

other members of the gang to appear, since they had already 
decided upon burglarizing a certain house this very night. 

As he sat there, shivering with the cold, a hand was suddenly 
laid upon his shoulder. It was very dark, and he could see 
only that a tall figure stood before him. You may imagine that 
he was frightened. Then the figure began to speak to him in 
a voice that sounded quite friendly, "What are you doing here 
so late at night, my boy? A little fellow T like you should not 
be upon the streets at such an hour as this. Hurry home and 
go to bed." "Yes, but I haven't any home," whispered the boy. 
"Poor boy, that is too bad. But say, will you go to bed if I find 
a bed for you?" "Will I? Yes, that you may be sure I will; 
and right away too," answered the boy. "Very well. At such 
and such a number of such and such a street you will find a 
bed." Before he could say anything further the boy was already 
off. "Wait a little," cried the stranger; how do you ever expect 
to get in? You must have a pass; no one is admitted without 
a pass. Here you have one; can you read?" No, the boy could 
not read. "Well then, remember that the password is 'John 
three sixteen, ; don't forget it or they will not admit you. 'John 
three sixteen' is something that will do you good." 

The boy set out, repeating to himself over and over again 
the words, "John three sixteen, John three sixteen." Finally 
he came to the house designated by the man. But now his 
courage nearly failed him — how was he to get in ? With his 
heart in his throat he rang the doorbell. A key was turned in 
the door, the door opened, and a gruff voice asked, "Who is 
there?" "It's me." "Who is me?" "It's me, 'John three six- 
teen'," came the reply in a trembling voice. "Very well, hurry 
and come in then." And in he came. 

In a remarkably short time he was lying in a beautiful warm 
bed, — such clean bed-clothes he had never seen before. As he 
was falling asleep he thought, "What a funny name that was; 
but I'm going to remember it just the same." 



— 41 — 
Next morning he received a bowl of warm milk and bread 
for breakfast. Then he had to go out into the streets again, 
for the home served only as a lodging place for the night. He 
wandered aimlessly about, up one street and down another. 
He was afraid that he might meet some of his former com- 
panions. He was deep in thought, reflecting upon the wonder- 
ful night he had passed and his new name. As he was crossing 
the street, he failed to notice a wagon coming at full speed; he 
did not hear the warning cry of the driver ; and before the horses 
could be stopped, he had been knocked down and run over. 

A crowd soon gathered about the bleeding, unconscious boy. 
He was laid on a stretcher and conveyed to the nearest hospital. 
After he had been gently laid in a bed, he regained consciousness. 
It is customary in the hospitals of Dublin that the patient's 
church connection, name, and address are recorded. The nurse 
asked the boy if he was a Catholic or Protestant. He really 
didn't know. Yesterday he was Catholic, but to-day he was 
"John three sixteen." This was all the boy could say of himself. 
In the meantime his wounds were washed and dressed. Be- 
fore long, fever, resulting from his wounds, set in and he was 
seized with cramp and delirium. At times he screamed, and at 
times he whispered, "John three sixteen, John three sixteen. 
That was something that was to do me good, and it has." 

The other patients listened. "John three sixteen." What 
did that mean? Finally it occurred to one of them to open the 
New Testament (a copy of which lay on the table beside each 
bed) at John 3.16. He read the glorious words, "For God so 
loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
ever believeth on him should not perish but have eternal life." 
The other patients also looked up the verse in their testaments 
and read it ; and all the time the little sick boy was either scream- 
ing or whispering, "It was something that was to do me good, 
and it has." 

Strange, new thoughts arose in the hearts of many of the 



— 42 — 

patients. These words under the circumstances impressed them 
much more profoundly than many a sermon had ever done. 

After a few days the fever disappeared, consciousness re- 
turned, and the poor little boy began to look about at his sur- 
roundings. Where was he? It was so quiet. All at once he 
heard a voice from one of the beds, "John three sixteen, how 
are you getting along to-day?" 

"What do you say? How do you know my new name?" 
"Oh! you have hardly said anything else since you came here. 
You have been saying over and over again, 'John three sixteen, 
John three sixteen' and I can never thank you enough for those 
blessed words, my lad." 

It affected him strangely that he should be thanked for any- 
thing, he, poor little wretch, who had never met with anything 
but cursings and beatings in all his little life. He became all the 
more amazed when the man who had begun speaking to him 
continued, "But do you know where those words — 'John three 
sixteen' are taken from? They are taken from the Bible." 
"The Bible? What is that?" He had never heard of such a 
book. "Oh, please read it for me!" he begged. And, when he 
had heard the verse read, he whispered, "How beautiful it is, 
how beautiful it is! Just love, pure love! And then a home 
not only for one night, but for ever and ever!" Soon he knew 
the words by heart. How happy the poor little sick boy was! 
"I have not only received a new name," he said, "I have re- 
ceived so much more besides." 

The days passed. Some of the patients left the hospital, and 
others came to take their places. But our little friend must 
yet remain in his bed. He was never lonesome; he lived upon 
his Bible verse, and he had no idea of the use he was soon to be 
privileged to make of it. There was yet a soul in this roomful 
of the sick which was to be gained for the Son of God, and he, 
the little boy with the childlike, joyous faith, was to be the 
means of bringing this about. 



— 43 — 

In the bed next to him lay an aged man, who was very sick. 
One morning a Catholic nun came to his bedside and said, 
"Well, Patrick, how are you this morning ?" "Poorly, poor- 
ly/' answered the man. "Has the priest been here this morn- 
ing ?" she asked. "Yes, he has; but I am so afraid, I am so 
afraid to die. How shall I dare to die?" "Patrick, Patrick, 
you are indeed in sore straits," she said, "but look here, here is 
a rosary. His Holiness, the Pope, has himself blessed it; this 
will enable you to die in peace." She placed it around the man's 
neck, bade him farewell and went away. But how were a few 
pearls to give peace to a human being who stood face to face 
with eternity, heavy laden with sin and guilt? Poor Patrick 
groaned aloud. "God help me," he said, "such a sinner as I 
am. I do not dare to die. What shall I do? What will De- 
come of me when I die?" 

The little boy heard all this. "Poor old man," he thought to 
himself, "he needs a pass." Then he said aloud, "Patrick, 
listen to me, Patrick, I know something that will do you good. 
I am sure of it, for it has already done me good." 

"Say it then, say it then" exclaimed Patrick. Oh! if I only 
could find something that would do me good." 

"Here it is. Now listen: John three sixteen. Do you hear, 
Patrick?" "Yes, yes, say it." 

"John three sixteen: For God so loved the world, that he 
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him 
should not perish, but have eternal life." 

Over and over he repeated the precious words. 

Through these words Patrick received grace to die in peace, 
— with this pass he entered into eternity. And to men it seemed 
that he died a blessed death. 

The boy regained his health. For a long time John 3.16 was 
his only text. The Lord blessed his faith. Kind-hearted people 
took charge of the homeless waif and he was put to school. 

Now he is laboring for his Saviour. 



— 44 — 

The Little Girl's Prayer 

This story was related to me by an aged man, Rasmus Niel- 
sen by name, as an incident in his early life. 

In his youth he served as a farm laborer in the employ of a 
man and woman who had recently been converted. Before their 
conversion they had occasionally read a prayer from a prayer- 
book but merely in a mechanical fashion. Now, however, they 
had learned to pray with heart and soul ; and the spirit of grace 
and prayer had so taken possession of their home that their little 
daughter, who was scarcely old enough to talk plainly, begged 
her mother to teach her to pray. 

One evening her mother, owing to the presence of visitors, 
forgot to hear her little girl say her evening prayer. When the 
child had been put to bed without prayer, she began to cry, and 
it was some time before her mother could understand what the 
trouble was. Her mother then took the little girl into the 
adjoining room in order that they might have their evening 
prayer together undisturbed. It happened that this was the 
room which Rasmus occupied, and as it was still early he had 
not yet fallen asleep, and so he heard the little child's prayer. 

"Let me by Thy child, dear God," she prayed, "and let mam- 
ma be Thy child, and let papa be Thy child, and let Rasmus 
too be Thy child. Amen." And so deep was the impression 
made by the words of the little girl's prayer, "and let Rasmus 
too be Thy child" that he burst into tears when he related it to 
me. 



— 45 — 

The Riddle of the Cross 

A new pastor came to a congregation in the north of Jutland. 
He was rilled with fervent love for his Saviour, and it was 
therefore with the keenest sorrow that he noticed how indifferent 
and cold the majority of his parishioners were towards Jesus. 
% But before long his attention was drawn to an elderly woman 
in the church. Every Sunday she came to church with her 
hymnbook wrapped in a white handkerchief. No matter what 
the weather was she was always in her seat directly opposite the 
pulpit. He did not know who she was, but he thought she must 
be a very pious woman, owing to her eagerness to hear the Word 
of God. One day in making his pastoral rounds, he came to the 
house where this woman lived. As she had no home of her own 
she was living with her daughter, who was married. 

The pastor was pleased at the opportunity which had finally 
been afforded him of meeting this woman and conversing with 
her. But a few minutes' conversation proved to him how 
thoroughly at fault his judgment of her had been. Love for the 
cross was a matter entirely foreign to her. He was very much 
downcast when he finally took his departure. Sunday after 
Sunday this woman had attended the services in the church and 
had heard about the "Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of 
the world, " and it seemed that it had been without the slightest 
influence upon her heart. 

She continued to attend the services regularly, and he often 
in his sermons addressed himself directly to her; but she re- 
mained unmoved. 

The following winter her granddaughter entered the confir- 
mation class. This was quite a new experience for the young 
girl, Joanna, by name. It seemed as though a new world was 
opened to her when the pastor in all the fervency of his love 



- 4 6- 

for the Saviour painted the picture of the Crucified One before 
the children of the confirmation class. And when the pastor 
began his series of sermons on the passion of Christ, he was 
certain to find Joanna present and a very attentive listener. 
And the young girl learned dearly to love her Saviour. 

Her heart was so full of what she heard that she could not 
refrain from telling it to others. Her parents would not take 
the time to listen to such things, but the grandmother could not 
escape. To her Joanna repeated what she had heard from the 
pastor, and her words were like glowing coals of fire. 

And what happened? The words of the child had a more 
powerful effect upon the grandmother than all the sermons of 
the pastor. 

One day as her grandchild was sitting and talking to her 
about Jesus, the old grandmother began to weep and exclaimed, 
"How wicked I must have been, since it was necessary for Him 
to suffer so!" Then she began to find the true explanation of 
the riddle of the cross. This hard heart was softened, the stub- 
born knee was bent in prayer ; — little Joanna's Saviour became 

grandmother's Saviour also. 

* # * 

A little girl once saw a picture of the crucified Saviour. She 
was told that He must suffer so for the sake of our sins. The 
little child did not — as do so many both great and small — 
allow these words to enter in at one ear and go out at the other ; 
no, she kept them in her heart. 

Some time afterward the little girl was with her father in 
church. Over the altar hung a picture of the Saviour on the 
cross. She kept her eyes upon the picture. When the singing 
of the psalm was ended she whispered to her father, "Father, I 
shall be good, — He shall never die again." 

This little girl also, young as she was, had begun to under- 
stand the riddle of the cross. 

Ps. 97.10. "O, ye that love Jehovah, hate evil." 



— 47 — 

Too Early — too Late 

Two boys in a Latin-school were together in their room. 
They were of the same age, about fourteen years. "No, no, it 
is altogether too early," said one, whose name was Henry. 
"What mother says is well and good, and I really mean to be- 
come pious and God-fearing some time, but not yet. It is en- 
tirely too early to become serious." 

"What are you sitting there and talking about?" said the 
other, whose name was Frank. 

"Oh ! I have just got a letter from my mother, — a whole ser- 
mon, you may well believe." 

"And you don't like it? I wish I had a mother; she might 
send me all the sermons she wished. But I have no mother." 

"Well, you may read this letter, but be careful of it; I keep 
all my mother's letters." And he went out. 

In the evening they met again. 

"Here is your letter, Henry. It is a fine letter. I thank you 
for letting me read it." 

"Yes, to be sure, it is a fine letter. So are all my mother's 
letters." 

"Don't you intend to follow her advice, Henry?" 

"Why, of course. That's plain enough, isn't it? Of course 
I want to go to heaven when I die. But it is too early to think 
about that matter yet." 

"But your mother said something about the danger of post- 
poning it." 

"Well, you may go ahead and be God-fearing and pious if 
you choose ; I for my part mean to enjoy myself for a time. It 
is altogether too early to be pious." 

* * * 

Years passed. The two comrades were now at the university. 



- 4 8- 

Frank was studying to be a minister of the gospel, while Henry 
was studying law. Henry, however, was a student only in 
name. He was chiefly engaged now in the endeavor to have a 
good time. He had many friends. Frank and Henry seldom 
met, but Frank could never forget what a debt of gratitude he 
owed to Henry's mother. 

One day they chanced to meet each other in the street. "Is 
it true that you are going abroad ?" asked Frank. "Yes, it is. 
Do you wish to join me?" asked Henry in return. "No, Henry; 
you and your comrades would hardly wish to have me join you. 
But there is one thing you must promise me, — come and see me 
some evening before you leave. There is something I wish very 
much to discuss with you. If you wish to come, you will be 
very welcome. ,, 

Henry certainly did not wish very much to come, but he came 
nevertheless. When he came, however, he was in a hurry, as 
Frank perceived at once, to have the visit over with. 

"I have so often wished to thank you, Henry, for a great 
favor you once did me." 

Henry looked inquiringly at him. 

"Do you remember that letter from your mother which you 
once gave me to read ? That letter became the turning-point in 
my life. Among other things your mother wrote these words, 
'Decide now for Jesus/ And by God's grace I did so. Now I 
realize what it means to have passed from death to life." 

"Yes, my mother was a remarkable woman." 

"Was? Is she dead?" 

"She died three years ago." 

"Henry" — Frank threw his arms about Henry's neck — 
"Henry, if your mother were standing here now before you, 
what do you suppose she would say? She would surely say to 
you once more, 'Decide now for Jesus.' " 

"Yes, indeed, I shall sooner or later so decide, but not now. 
It is too early yet, I have other things to think about now." 



— 49 — 

Again a number of years passed by. Frank was now the 
pastor of a village church. One evening he was summoned to 
the hotel. A transient guest there had suddenly become very 
ill and he wished very much to speak with a minister of the 
gospel. Frank hastened to the hotel. When he arrived there, 
he at once inquired as to the condition of the sick man. "He is 
very sick," said the physician who attended him. "His suffering 
is not so severe at present, but his strength is failing. He desires 
very much to see a clergyman." Frank entered the dying man's 
chamber and seated himself by his bed. "My friend, can I be 
of any service to you?" he asked. "You are about to die. Have 
you any hope for eternity to cheer and strengthen your heart in 
your last hour?" A shudder of agony passed over the face of 
the dying man. He opened his eyes and stared fixedly at the 
pastor. "It is too late," he muttered. 

The pastor bent over him. "Do not say it is too late, my 
friend," he said. "It is the eleventh hour, but Jesus is still 
waiting. 'Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out/ 
He has said himself. Come to Him." 

Again the shudder of agony passed over the man's face, and he 
said again, "It is too late." 

The pastor could accomplish nothing. There was something 
about the sick man's face and countenance that seemed familiar 
to the pastor, yet he could not remember where he had met with 
him before. All night the pastor remained at the bedside. 
When the day dawned, the struggle was ended. The dead man 
lay there with the same expression of hopelessness and anxiety 
in his face that was there when for the last time he said, "It is 
too late." 

Frank picked up a visiting card from the table in a corner of 
the room, and with the keenest sorrow he read the name of his 
old friend. Now he realized the meaning of the words, "It is 
too late." 



— 50 — 



Lord, Help Me 



Matt. 1 5*25. "But she came and worshiped him, saying, Lord, 
help me. JJ 

The story which follows is the actual experience of an English 
minister of the Gospel. 

Ever since his student days he had owed a certain man the 
sum of one hundred dollars. One day this man called upon him 
and requested him to make immediate payment of the debt. 
"Next Monday I shall make the payment," said the pastor. 
Monday came, but the pastor could not procure the money with 
which to pay his debt. He therefore asked for an extension of 
time until the following Monday. It was granted. 

The pastor then wrote down the names of several of his 
friends; from any one of these he thought he could borrow the 
necessary money. But in this expectation he was bitterly disap- 
pointed. — When a man wishes to find out how many real 
friends he has, let him try to borrow money from them. — The 
next day he made up a list, this time of friends less rich than the 
first. "Here I can certainly get twenty-five dollars, and there 
twenty-five," he said to himself. But when he made the attempt, 
he met with no more success than before. It was a bitter expe- 
rience. He, the popular preacher, could not borrow one hun- 
dred dollars from his friends! 

Friday came — he was on the point of giving up all hope. 
His word as a man of honor was at hazard, and he realized that 
his creditor would not scruple to take legal steps to collect the 
debt. 

At his morning devotion he read the seventy-sixth Psalm, and 
this inspired him with new hope. He began to think of selecting 
a text for Sunday, but could find none — the one hundred dol- 
lars monopolized his thought. He tried to read, but the letters 
before his eyes ran together into the words, "one hundred dol- 



— pi- 
lars." Wherever he turned his eyes, whether upon the ceiling, 
the walls, the faces of his children, or his wife, the same words 
appeared, ''one hundred dollars." It was a terrible day. 

Saturday came after a sleepless night. "You have so often 
preached to others about the power of faith; now you need to 
practice what you preach," said his wife to him. This did not 
improve the situation. He went about all day as if in a dream. 
The day passed just as the preceding day had passed. When 
the evening came, it was with a heavy heart that he ascended 
the stairs to his study. Three sermons to preach on Sunday and 
no text ; one hundred dollars to pay on Monday and no money ! 

He fell upon his knees. "Lord, help me," he prayed. He 
could find no other words, but these words rose from the depth 
of his heart over and over again. 

As he prayed, the thought suddenly occurred to him, "Here is 
my text for to-morrow." And since Sunday comes before Mon- 
day, he began to address himself, as best he could, to the task of 
preparing his sermons for the morrow. But it was impossible 
for him to find any other text than this: "Lord, help me." 

While he was preaching on Sunday morning, so many 
thoughts came to him that he found it an easy matter to develop 
his text. Among other things which occurred to him and which 
he related from the pulpit was the story of a man who was the. 
guardian of two orphan children. This man in his extremity 
yielded to the temptation to borrow for his own use some of the 
money entrusted to his care. Having once made a beginning, he 
repeated the process from time to time. Finally he had made 
away with all the property of the orphans. He then became 
addicted to drink, and at last died the death of an embezzler 
and a drunkard. If this man w T ould have steeled his heart 
against temptation at the very beginning by praying, "Lord, 
help me," the outcome would have been quite different. In- 
stead of losing his money, his good name, his peace of heart, and 
his life, his prayer would have been heard and he would have 



— 52 — 

received strength from God to overcome the temptation to do 
wrong. 

Noon came — his sermon was not half finished. He con- 
tinued to preach upon the same text in the afternoon and in the 
evening. It seemed to him that he could have spoken along this 
line for a whole week. 

In this way the Lord helped him through the Sunday, and he 
felt convinced that the Lord would help him also on the follow- 
ing day. 

When the evening services were ended, a young man re- 
mained to speak with the pastor. They entered the sacristy. 
The young man remained silent for some time. Finally he be- 
gan to speak. "You know my mother, pastor," — he mentioned 
a name, and the pastor nodded his head affirmatively — "al- 
though you do not know me. When my mother died, she left all 
her property to me with the exception of two small sums of 
money. One of these sums I was to give to a poor woman with 
whom she was acquainted. 'The other sum/ said my mother, 
'you are to give to the pastor. He is in need of financial assist- 
ance. Give him this sum of one hundred dollars. ' 

"I gave the money to the woman as my mother had directed, 
but the one hundred dollars which she told me to give to you, I 
kept for my own use. Now I can keep them no longer, they 
sear my conscience. I listened to your sermon this morning and 
heard your story of the dishonest guardian. Here is the money. 
Take it and forgive me." 

The pastor was stunned, his whole body quivered. The Lord 
had helped him through the Sunday and had given him money 
for the Monday. He hastened home and laid the money upon 
the table before his wife. "Here they are! here they are!" he 
exclaimed. "Now I understand why I could not borrow any. 
God knew where the money was to be found. He has heard my 
prayer and has helped me ; in Him will I put my trust, and Him 
will I praise as long as I live." 



— 53 — 

When this little prayer, "Lord, help me," comes from the 
heart, it is impossible to express in words what its power is. 

2 Chron. 16.9. "For the eyes of Jehovah run to and fro 
throughout the whole earth, to show himself strong in the be- 
half of them whose heart is perfect toward him." 



Are You Ready ? 



Her name was Catherine. She was a good, capable girl who 
attended to her duties promptly and conscientiously. She kept 
house for her father, who was a widower, and she gave her little 
brothers and sisters the best of care. Everybody said of her, 
"She is a fine girl." 

One day she became sick. She certainly had no time to be 
sick, but she must take the time. Week after week passed by. 

"It is terrible," she complained, "here I lie, and everything 
will be all topsy-turvy if I lie here any longer." But it was use- 
less to complain; she could not leave her bed. 

Her pastor had called on her several times. Catherine was 
not entirely pleased with his visits. "Why, it is just as if I were 
going to die," she said; and there were so many things for her 
to do that she did not have time to die. 

But the pastor continued his visits. One day he said to her, 
"Well, Catherine, should you be willing to go away if the 
Saviour called you now?" She became pale as death. The pas- 
tor talked to her about the Father's house and the way which 
leads to it. She realized that what he said was true, but — she 
had no time to think of these things now. What would become 
of her father, her sisters and brothers? No, she certainly did 
not have time to die. 



— 54 — 

The pastor came again. He read to her the parable of the 
ten virgins. It seemed to her that his voice sounded so strange 
and dismal, exactly as if he were preaching a funeral sermon. 
"And they that were ready" — how solemnly and slowly he 
was reading! — "went in with him to the marriage feast; and 
the door was shut." 

"Be ready? — for what, then?" she asked herself. The pas- 
tor knelt and prayed. Almost unconsciously Catherine folded 
her hands. The pastor prayed, "Dear Lord God, let Catherine 
be ready when Thy Son comes. Do not take her away until 
she is ready and until she can meet Him with joy." 

The sick girl lay there pale and still. When the pastor 
reached out his hand to bid her farewell, her eyes were filled 
with tears. "Dear Catherine," he said, "to-day is the day of 
grace, to-day God is to be found. The Lord calls. Listen to 
His voice. Perhaps your time is short." — He went away. 

Catherine turned to the wall and wept. Then she lay a long 
time and stared straight ahead. But what was this ? It seemed 
as if she could read the story of her whole life right there on the 
wall — it was so plain to her — and through it all sounded the 
words, "and they that were ready — the door was shut — shut 
— shut for ever!" Ready? Yes, she had always been ready to 
attack her everyday work with vigor — this was the very thing 
in which she had taken pride. But she was not ready to receive 
the Lord with joy. 

She lay upon her bed and groaned, "They that were ready — 
Lord Jesus — the door was shut — dear Lord, do not take me 
away before I am ready." 

Winter came and wore away. It was spring. Catherine was 
still confined to her bed. But she no longer complained. Her 
face was pale, very pale, but her eyes were radiant. It was one 
of the last days in May. Little Frederick, the pastor's son, came 
in with a bouquet from his mother. Catherine greeted him with 
a smile ; she was so weak that it was an effort for her to speak. 



— 55 — 
She took his hand and said softly, "Heaven is my home. What 
blessed comfort ! I shall remember to tell Jesus, little Frederick, 
how good you have been to Catherine, how you have sung for 
her and brought her flowers." 

In the evening her father and the pastor w r ere sitting by her 
bedside. The end was approaching. Her little brothers and sis- 
ters were weeping. "And they that were ready," whispered the 
dying girl. "I am ready — my Saviour — the door is open — 
open." 

"It is well that she was spared from any lengthy suffering," 
said the people ; "she was such a fine girl." 

"God be praised that she was ready," said the pastor. 

Matt. 25.10. "And they that were ready went in with him 
to the marriage feast ; and the door was shut." 



It is Your Fault, Mother 

A criminal lay bound in heavy fetters ; on the morrow he was 
to be led to the scaffold. Then the door of the prison opens and 
his mother enters. As soon as the prisoner recognizes her, he 
stretches out his arm and exclaims, "It is your fault, mother. 
The first time I stole potatoes out of our neighbor's field, you 
laughed and said, 'That was well done, my son/ From that day 
I have continued to fall, deeper and deeper. It is your fault, 
mother." 



A young girl became seriously concerned about the salvation 
of her soul. Her parents, who were worldly-minded, deter- 
mined to do everything to drive such thoughts from the mind 



-56- 

of their daughter. They gave her fine clothes and jewels; they 
arranged dinner parties and balls. They tried everything, and 
finally they succeeded. The girl came to think that it was yet 
too early for her to think of her soul's salvation, later on in 
life would be time enough, — surely a young girl could not be- 
come a pietist. 

Then she became ill, dangerously ill. The last day of her 
life she bade her mother bring her the dress she had worn at her 
last ball. Her mother did so. The girl looked at it in silence 
for some time. Then she burst into tears. "It has been paid 
for dearly, mother. It is the price of my soul/' 

Before the new day dawned she was dead. 



Christian Scriver tells us that when he was a little boy his 
mother would always pray with him as he went to bed, and 
would place her hand in blessing upon his head. Later on in life 
when temptations came upon him, it always seemed to him that 
he could feel his mother's hand upon his head. Then he would 
stop and say to himself, "Christian, do not grieve you Saviour; 
do not bring shame upon your mother." And so he would 
drive away and put to flight sinful thoughts and temptations. 



At a social gathering it happened that a young physician was 
speaking of one of his patients. "And then these stupidly pious 
people," he said, "can not let her be in peace. They keep run- 
ning in and out and preach and preach, until she is nearly be- 
side herself. Fools! I have often told them that when we 
die, we die, and that is the end of it." 

Among those who listened to the doctor's words was a young 
girl. Usually she was the gayest of the gay, but now she 
appeared very serious and thoughtful. Suddenly she began to 
speak. "Doctor, it is not true that our existence ends with 



— 57 — 
death. I myself am not a believing Christian and know very 
little about such things. But my mother was a true Christian, 
and I am convinced that her faith was neither imagination nor 
delusion. When I was a little child, she often drew me to her 
side, laid her hand upon my head and prayed that I might meet 
her in heaven. You may say what you will, but I insist that 
my mother's faith was not a matter of imagination. Two years 
ago she died, full of peace and joy. When she was about to die, 
she drew us children close to her, and with something of the 
glory of heaven already in her countenance she prayed that we 
all might meet again in heaven. Am I now to believe, " said the 
girl with tears in her eyes, "that all this was mere delusion? Am 
I never to see my mother again ? No, no, I cannot believe what 
you say." 

She had spoken very warmly. Her brother attempted to 
silence her. "No, Ernest," she said, "let me speak. / must 
defend my mother s faith and my mother s God" 

And her mother's God became her God. 



Bartholomew Ziegenbalg, the Danish missionary, tells us the 
following about his mother. She died while he was yet a little 
child. Still he could remember that his mother gathered her 
children about her bed and said to them, "Dear children, I have 
a treasure for you, a very great treasure!' The eldest daughter 
asked, "Dear mother, where is this treasure?" The mother 
answered, "Seek it in the Bible. There you will find it. I have 
moistened its pages with my tears." 

Shortly after saying this she died. 



One Sunday morning eight young students were walking 
along the bank of a river in the vicinity of the city of Washing- 
ton. They were on their way to the woods for the purpose of 



-58- 

spending the day there. They were in high spirits. In their 
pockets they carried bottles of wine and playing cards. They 
were certainly intent upon making a merry day of it. — Then 
the bells of a church in a neighboring village began to ring. 
One of the students, the very gayest of the little company, 
stopped to listen. "I have a good notion to go to church, " he 
said to the comrade who was walking beside him. This young 
man looked at him in a puzzled manner for a moment, then he 
shouted to the others who were a little in advance, "Listen and 
you shall hear something decidedly funny. George has made up 
his mind to become pious. He says he wishes to go to church. " 

The others came back and surrounded George, and laughed 
and mocked. "You must not laugh, " said George seriously. 
"Please listen a moment and I shall tell you what the bells are 
saying to me." There was something solemn about his voice 
which caused his comrades to listen to him. 

"You must know, my friends, that about fifty miles from here 
I have a mother who prays. As far back as I can remember 
she has been confined to her bed. When I was about to leave 
home, she called me to her bedside and said, 'My dear boy, I shall 
ever pray that my Saviour may come to be your Saviour also. 
Remember that every Sunday morning between ten and eleven 
o'clock, when the bells are ringing, your dying mother is praying 
the Lord to save you.' I do not expect to see my mother again 
in this world — my" father cannot afford to send me the neces- 
sary money for traveling — I do not even know whether she is 
still alive. Do as you wish, my friends, but I will not go with 
you to the woods. My mother's prayer compels me to go to 
church." 

His comrades no longer laughed. They stood there with 
tearful eyes. George turned about and walked away toward 
the church. The others, one after the other, followed him. The 
bottles and cards were thrown away. — A great change came 
over them from that day; one by one they were all brought to 



— 59 — 
the Saviour and became devout Christians. And all this was 
the fruit of the dying mother's prayer. 
* # # 

A young man was employed upon an estate in Jutland. A 
great revival had just been taking place in this vicinity. Among 
those converted were the mother of this young man and also his 
employer. But the young man — Christian was his name — 
made fun of it all. They were not going to fool him with any 
such nonsense. 

Then of a sudden he received word that his mother was se- 
riously sick. He must hasten if he wished to see her before she 
died. This was a heavy blow to Christian, for although he 
disliked her religious faith he loved his mother very dearly. He 
hurried home. The message he had received was true ; his moth- 
er was about to die. When she saw her son sitting by her bed, 
she gathered up her remaining strength and spoke earnestly with 
him about the one matter which concerned her most and for 
which she prayed most fervently — that her son might find his 
Saviour. She besought him not to resist the Saviour's love. 
But Christian remained hard and cold as he always was when- 
ever his mother talked to him of his soul's salvation. Now her 
strength was all exhausted. With her eyes filled with tears she 
looked upon him, took his hand and said, "Farewell, then, 
Christian, now we shall never see each other again!" 

"Never — again !" The words echoed within him. "Never 
again see my mother !" He realized that what his mother said 
was true. His mother was going to heaven — and he ! — "Nev- 
er again see my mother I" This was more than he could bear, 
he loved her so dearly. He must see her again. 

He knelt at his mother's bedside and prayed to his mother's 
Saviour to save him also, to forgive his sin against Heaven and 
against his mother. He forgot everything else. He could not 
rise before he had received assurance that his sin was forgiven. 



— 6o — 

It was a struggle such as that of Jacob's of old which was being 
fought out in the simple cabin this night. And it ended in vic- 
tory. When he arose from his knees he could say as Jacob 
said, "My life is preserved. " His heart overflowed with joy 
and thanksgiving. But when he turned to his mother, he found 
that she had already passed away. 



Listen, Someone is Knocking 

In a city in Switzerland there lived a missionary. His way 
often led him by a beautiful, new villa not far distant from the 
railway station. He was not acquainted with the owner of the 
villa and knew T about him nothing else than that he was very 
rich, very much opposed to religion, and very hostile to the 
faithful Christians who lived in that city. 

One night the missionary had a dream. He dreamed that he 
was passing by the rich man's house. It was in the evening. ~At 
the door a stranger stood knocking, but no one opened the door. 
The missionary approached the stranger and said, "They are at 
home, for I saw a light through one of the windows. " The 
stranger continued to knock, but no one opened the door. 

Two hours later the missionary again passed by the house. 
What did this mean? The stranger still stood at the door and 
the light was still to be seen through the window. "The man 
of the house must be busy," said the missionary; "or perhaps he 
is entertaining guests. You must knock more loudly, he cannot 
have heard you." But no one came to open the door. "Come 
with me to my home," said the missionary, "you are welcome to 
stay with me, and to-morrow morning you may return to this 
house." — "No, I cannot go with you," said the stranger. "The 



— 6i — 

man of the house here is in great danger. I am very desirous 
of warning him this evening. To-morrow it will be too late." 

In the meantime the heavens had been overcast with heavy 
clouds. It began to thunder and the rain soon fell in torrents. 
The missionary went again to the house of the rich man. It 
was now midnight. The remarkable stranger was still standing 
at the door. He knocked so loudly that it could be heard far 
and wide. But no response. 

"You are assuredly an eccentric man. Why do you continue 
to stand here and knock when it is plain the man of the house 
does not wish to listen to you? You surely must understand 
that. Come with me" pleaded the missionary. 

"No, I must gain admittance. Poor man, if he only realized 
how necessary it is !" 

Again he knocked. Now the sound of approaching steps 
could be heard. The door was opened, and the man of the 
house appeared in the doorway. No sooner had he caught sight 
Oi' the stranger, however, than he began to abuse him violently, 
calling him a roustabout who went about disturbing the peace 
of decent people. 

The missionary was about to speak in defense of the stranger 
and repay the man in his own coin. But the stranger laid his 
hand upon the missionary's arm and said, "Blessed are the 
peacemakers, for they shall inherit the earth." "You are indeed 
a wonderful man," exclaimed the missionary. "The Lord is 
merciful," answered the stranger solemnly, "slow to anger and 
plenteous in mercy. He has no pleasure in the death of the 
wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live." In 
the meantime the door had been closed with a bang. 

"Come, stranger," said the missionary, "come with me. You 
see that you can accomplish nothing by standing here any longer. 
Even if you persist, you will not be permitted to enter." 

The stranger still tarried. With his eyes filled with tears he 
looked upon the closed door. The missionary was in the act of 



— 62 — 

taking the stranger's hand when the scales, as it were, fell from 
his eyes. He perceived that the hands and feet of the stranger 
were pierced. 

It was the Lord Jesus. 

"Dear Lord and Saviour," he exclaimed, "canst Thou endure 
such treatment as this?" 

"Poor man, poor man! All too soon he will experience the 
wrath of My judgment, because he did not know the things 
which belonged to his peace." 

* # # 

The missionary awoke. There was a knock at his door. It 
was a messenger from the owner of the villa. This rich man 
was now at the point of death and desired to see the missionary. 

When the missionary arrived at the villa, he found the rich 
man lying upon his bed and groaning, "Lord Jesus, save me! 
Have mercy upon me ! Grant me but an hour to seek my soul's 
salvation! Lord, save me!" His wife knelt beside him and 
wrung her hands, and the children were standing by the bed, 
loudly weeping. 

When the dying man perceived the missionary, he cried out, 
"Pray for me! Pray for me! It may be that God will hear 
you ; me he will not hear." 

The missionary knelt beside the bed. At the same moment 
the rich man breathed his last. 



O that You Knew! 

"Big James" often worked himself into a rage over the fact 
that there were people round about him who were stupid enough 
to walk every Sunday a distance of twelve miles to the church 
in the city simply to hear the city pastor preach. "They want to 



-6 3 - 

be better than others, and so they run a dozen miles simply to 
hear a preacher! Why can't they stay at home and hear our 
own pastor? Isn't he good enough for them?" It was comical 
indeed. James always praised "our own pastor", but he never 
went to hear him. No, indeed, he had no time for that. 

One Sunday morning, however, James takes his cane and sets 
off for the city. What now? Does he too intend to become 
pious? No, no; he is too shrewd for that. He has some matters 
to attend to in the city, and he has more time at his disposal on 
Sundays than on other days. Now he is on the way, — but not 
alone. From every direction people come, and all are going to 
the city; they are on their way to church. James is not pleased 
with their company. "Such fools," he growls, "here they go 
and wear out their soles to no purpose whatever." He knew 
why he was going to the city; there was some sense in that. — He 
arrived at the city and attended to his affairs. Then he directed 
his steps to a tavern — he would slake his thirst and then go 
home again. At every step he met happy, joyous men and 
women on their way to church, and the happier they appeared, 
the more James growled. 

Suddenly he met one of his neighbors, who invited him to at- 
tend the services in the church. James shook his head angrily, 
but in reality he was curious to know in what way this city 
preacher surpassed all other preachers, for the people were pour- 
ing into the church in throngs. Since he happened to be in the 
city there could be no harm in entering the church for a few 
moments; he could, of course, leave as soon as he had heard 
enough. 

No sooner thought than done. He forced his way in. All 
seats were occupied already, and behind him was a throng of 
people pressing forward for room. He was pushed and squeezed 
and before he was aware of it he was standing squarely before 
the pulpit so tightly hemmed about by others that he could not 
even move his arms. 



-6 4 - 

There he stood — "Big James" — over six feet in height, his 
head towering above all the others about him. He wished that 
he were outside again. But that was simply out of the question. 

The preacher entered the pulpit. What his text was that 
day, I do not know, but he described the sinner just as he is, and 
occasionally he looked seriously at James. This caused James 
to blush with shame, and this together with the heat pressed 
forth great drops of sweat upon his forehead. 

And when the preacher began to tell about how many people 
in their zeal for earthly things forget their immortal soul, then 
James was certain that someone had informed the preacher that 
"Big James" was in the church to-day and that he was such and 
such a kind of a man. He could have sunk through the floor in 
shame. The description fitted him perfectly. 

But then again the preacher told of the love of Jesus for sin- 
ners in such a fervent and touching way that the heart of the 
great, strong man became as wax within him. The tears from 
his eyes were mingled with the great drops of sweat from his 
brow. If he only could have hidden himself, bow down so that 
no one could see his face — but this was impossible, he must 
stand there and let the tears run their course. 

And when the pastor finally made a fervent appeal to the 
unconverted to give their hearts to Jesus, James had to look up 
at the preacher once more. Yes, there was no mistake about it, 
the preacher was looking straight at him, only at him; indeed 
he even pointed at him as he brought his sermon to a close by 
reciting with soul-stirring solemnity the verse: 

"Awake ! the voice still soundeth, 

'Tis now the accepted hour; 
The grace of God aboundeth, 

To save from sin's dread power. 
Make haste, implore Christ's favor, 

Thy sins confess, and bow 
Before the Lord, thy Saviour, 

The accepted time is now. 






-6 5 - 

These words made a deep impression upon James. He left 
the church and set out slowly for home, — his thirst and the 
tavern were entirely forgotten. "What shall I do to be saved ?" 
This was the question which now occupied his mind. 

A restless week followed. James had never before been so 
unhappy, and he wondered what was to become of him. 

The next Sunday James again set out for the city. He knew 
what he was seeking: peace and comfort for his restless heart. 
This time he came early enough to secure a seat in which he 
would not be so conspicuous. He listened with rapt attention 
to the sermon. The blessed comfort and peace of the gospel 
was abundantly set forth, but the only words he could take to 
himself were these, "You are a sinner; and the soul which sin- 
neth shall die." 

The week which now followed was worse than the preceding 
one. It couldn't be avoided — he must go and speak with the 
man who had robbed him of his peace of heart. Accordingly 
on the following Sunday, when he had attentively listened to 
the sermon but had received no comfort from it, he went to the 
pastor's house. He stood before the door. Why does he not 
enter? He dares not. He goes away and returns — goes away 
and returns. Finally he decides to postpone it till the following 
Sunday. 

The following Sunday came. Now the anguish of his soul 
had reached its climax. He could endure it no longer. Again 
he stands before the pastor's door, but again he is afraid to enter. 
At last he makes a desperate decision — surely since he is called 
"Big James" he must be no coward. He enters the hallway, and 
after a moment he is ushered into the pastor's presence. 

He was received with open arms. Hour after hour passed 
by. James had risen to go three different times so as not to take 
too much of the pastor's time, but the pastor for the fourth time 
compelled him to resume his seat. 

His anxiety of soul gradually disappeared. And when at last 

Love Divine. 3. 



— 66 — 

he bade the pastor farewell and descended the stairs there 
echoed deep within him the words, "Jesus Christ came into the 
world to save sinners. " His step had been heavy when he en- 
tered the pastor's home ; but on his homeward way his step was 
light and his heart joyous. Now "Big James" like the eunuch 
of Ethiopia could go on his way rejoicing, for now he had learned 
to know the riches of God's mercy in Christ Jesus. 



The New Song 



Ps. 40.3. "And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even 
praise unto our God!' 

There lived in the city of London a few years ago three sisters. 
Two of these sisters were believing Christians, but the third, 
who was the youngest, was always ready to ridicule the faith of 
her sisters and to mock at their "hanging of the head, ,, as she 
called it. They couldn't go to this, and they couldn't take part 
in that, because it was contrary to their religion. No, she un- 
derstood how to enjoy life in quite a different way. And so 
she enjoyed life to the full as she understood enjoyment, young 
and rich and beautiful as she was. But then a change took place. 

One night she had attended a ball. The next forenoon, when 
she came downstairs to her sisters, she looked tired and pale. 
Generally she was very talkative on such occasions, would tell 
of the splendid time she had had, the dress this one and that one 
had worn, and how much she had danced. This she did because 
she knew it pained her sisters to hear it. But on this occasion 
she sat thoughtful and silent. Her sisters asked her if she was 
not well, or if she had a headache. 

No, there was nothing the matter, she was perfectly well. — 



-6 7 - 

The day passed. But in the evening twilight when her sisters 
persisted in asking her what the trouble was, she could no lon- 
ger remain silent. 

"Yes, I know that you will be glad to hear what I am about 
to say, and I am sure you will come with your moralizing ser- 
mons which are so extremely tiresome to me. But I shall tell 
you nevertheless. Let me say in advance, however, that I do 
not care about it at all. But it was strange indeed. 

"Last night when I came home — you may imagine that it 
was a pleasant evening — O, what a good time I had ! — but I 
was so tired. I fell asleep at once and had such a strange 
dream. 

I seemed to be walking through a large city. But it was no 
ordinary city. The street upon which I was walking and all the 
houses were of gold, glittering, transparent gold. It was 
strangely light, but the light was not of the sun or of the moon. 
A large multitude of people were walking with me upon the 
street. Joy shone in their faces, and they looked upon me in a 
very friendly way. But it all seemed so strange and unfamiliar 
to me. I do not know why it was, but I wished that I were far 
away. I knew no one in the throng and I felt so lonely among 
them all. 

They all walked in the same direction, and without any effort 
of the will I followed the stream. At the end of the street was 
a palace, more beautiful than all the other houses. It seemed 
like a single great diamond. As if driven by an invisible power 
I walked with the others up the steps and passed through the 
door of the palace. The people who entered were dressed in 
garments of various kinds and colors, but as soon as they were 
within the palace they disappeared through a side door, and 
when they came out again they were all clad in garments of 
white. All now entered a very large hall. O that I could fairly 
picture this hall to you ! It was not gold, not marble, not crys- 
tal, but light, light, and again light. It was the sun without its 



— 68 — 

blinding sheen, the moon without its coldness. It was easy to 
enter, but I shuddered and turned away ; it all seemed so strange 
and foreign to me. 

Then a man approached me. He looked at me with eyes at 
once kind and piercing. "Why do you turn away?" he asked. 
I did not answer and he walked slowly away. 

Suddenly another stood before me and looked at me in the 
same strange way. I wished to run away but I could not move 
from the place where I was standing. "Have you come so far 

— to no purpose ? Remove your own garments and put on the 
garments of white." 

"I do not wish to be clad in the garments of white, I do not 
wish to enter the great hall," I cried. 

All who passed by looked upon me in a friendly way with 
curiously attractive expression, but I remained there sad and ill 
at ease. Finally a man again approached me. "Do not turn 
away," he prayed. "Whither will you go? Come in. We are 
in the happiest state, there is no other place so blissful as this." 
He extended his hand to me — I followed him. 

A garment of white was cast over my shoulders. As in a 
dream I followed my companion into the great hall. 

What I saw I cannot describe, what I heard I cannot repeat 

— it was a sea of light, of jubilation, of song. 

Terrified I crept into a corner and endeavored to hide myself 
there. I was in the great hall of the blessed, but I was a 
stranger there. 

Then the song like an ocean wave of melody filled the great 
hall. I stood in my corner and riveted my eyes upon the blessed. 

Of a sudden the song became a cry of jubilee. One came in 
who was more beautiful than all the others. On him every eye 
was fixed, and every eye grew radiant as it gazed upon him. The 
song was all in his praise, for him alone. 

One of the singers, observing me, approached me and said, 
"Why are you silent? Come and join us in the song." — A 



-6 9 - 

pang of pain shot through my heart. I was filled with bitter 
sorrow — and bitter defiance. "Join you in the song?" I ex- 
claimed. "I do not know the melody of your song, — I do not 
care to sing it." He sighed deeply as he returned to his place. 

At last he came to me, he who was the most beautiful of all 
and in whose honor the song was sung. I shuddered at the 
sight of him, the blood congealed in my veins, and my heart 
felt cold as ice. He began to speak and his voice was like ex- 
quisite music. "Why do you sit here so silent? All the others 
are so happy. Come and sing the song of my people." . 

There was such an intensity of love in his words, — a heart 
of ice should have melted at the sound of them. But my heart 
was hard as a stone. "I can not, I will not sing that song; I 
do not know its melody." 

His countenance was changed in a moment, his eyes became 
as the lightning, and with a voice of thunder he cried, "What? 
You do not know the song of my people? How have you en- 
tered here?" — The earth opened under my feet and I sank 
into a flaming sea. — Then I awoke." 

The girl had been so absorbed in the story of her dream that 
she had forgotten all else. When she had finished there was 
silence, absolute silence in the room for some time. 

Then her sisters embraced her lovingly. "Anna, dearest 
Anna, the Lord has sent this dream to you. In your dream you 
have seen the holy city, of which you may read in the twenty- 
first chapter of Revelation, — the city which has no need of the 
sun, neither of the moon, for the glory of God lightens it and 
the lamp thereof is the Lamb. All who enter there are clad in 
garments of white. 

"O dearest sister! seek the Lord while He may be found, that 
He may teach your lips the new song, the song of the redeemed. 
The song of which you did not know the melody is the song 
which we, your sisters, have begun to learn. Anna, do not for- 
get your dream. Call upon the Lord. Now He is near to you." 



— 7o — 

Anna sat silent. And during the following days she went 
about in a strange silence. But then she seemed to have for- 
gotten the dream. She became the same indifferent, mocking 
girl she had been before, intent only upon worldly pleasures. 

One morning she was found dead in her bed. Had she 
learned the melody of the song of the redeemed? 

Hebr. 3.15. "To-day if ye shall hear his voice, harden not 
your hearts." 



Hail, Saviour and Redeemer! 

He was a painter — she was his wife. She was a devout 
Christian — he was not. He loved her and she loved him; but 
he realized that she loved the crucified Saviour more than she 
loved him. She loved to hear the Word of God — he accom- 
panied her to church for her sake. She read to him and talked 
to him about the Saviour — he listened and laughed. She be- 
came pale and silent, more pale and more silent day by day, but 
he did not notice it. She lay upon her death-bed — he sat close 
beside her and she nestled her head in his bosom. But her last 
dying glance was directed to the picture over her bed, the picture 
of the Crucified One. 

Several years passed. He could never forget her. He had 
tried, he had sought forgetfulness in dissipation, but in vain. 
Now he w r as seeking forgetfulness in hard work. He was en- 
gaged upon a painting to be placed above the altar of the new 
church in the city. It was to represent Christ before the council 
of the Jews. In order that he might the better feel the situation 
to be set forth in the picture, the painter had read through his 
wife's New Testament, her Testament with the many passages 
which she had underlined. The painting was now nearly fin- 



— 7i — 

ished, — the faces of the Jews filled with hate — the sly, proud 
Pharisees — the well-fed Sadducees — one thing only remained : 
the figure of the Saviour. There now came vividly to his mind 
the recollection of an episode in his life while his wife was still 
living. He had been engaged to paint the scene of the Cruci- 
fixion. She had come to him, laid her hand upon his arm, and 
looked into his eyes with such an anxious, prayerful look as only 
she was capable of. "Do not do it," she whispered. "Why 
not?" he inquired. "Because His portrait can be painted only 
be one who is a devout believer in Him. I love you dearly. 
Your hands must not profane His holy body." On that occasion 
he had laughed at her, — now he did not laugh. It seemed to 
him that her hand was again laid upon his arm whenever he was 
about to paint the figure of the Saviour. It seemed as if he 
could hear her whisper, "Do not do it. Do not do it." But 
he had undertaken the work. It must be finished. Time was 
rapidly passing. O that he had never undertaken the task! 

He began to paint — a beautiful human figure was soon 
taking shape under his skilful hand. But the face — the face ! 
"No, do not do it" — the words sounded again in his ears. He 
could not, he was not a devout believer in the Man of Sorrows. 
Day after day, night after night the neighbors heard him pacing 
to and fro in his studio ; but there was one thing which no human 
being heard — what passed between him and One other, between 
him and his God, his wife's God. In the morning, when his 
housekeeper brought him his breakfast, she would often find 
him after a sleepless night sitting before his painting, which 
remained unfinished, or bowed over a book — her book — yes, 
sometimes she would find him upon his knees — him, the hard, 
proud, self-sufficient man. 

The church was completed — the painting likewise. The 
day of dedication came. All eyes in the church, which was filled 
to overflowing, were directed to the painting. 

But there was a curtain over it, which was not to be removed 



— 72 — 

until the singing of the psalm after the sermon. This was in 
accordance with the wish of the painter, and the painter himself 
had chosen the psalm. 

The sermon was ended. The organ began the psalm, "Hail, 
Saviour and Redeemer !" The veil was drawn aside. All eyes 
were upon the painting. There they stood, the vengeful Phari- 
sees with clenched hands, the haughty councillors, the false wit- 
nesses. But in the center of the painting — every eye was at- 
tracted to it — stood the Son of God and of Man; it seemed 
as if the light were radiating from His head and entire figure. 
His one hand pointed downward to the gilded inscription under 
the painting, "Thou sayest that I am a king." His other hand 
pointed upward to His place at the right hand of God. It 
seemed as if His eye were seeking every individual in the audi- 
ence: "Wounded for your transgressions, bruised for your in- 
iquities — do you not see this, child of man?" It seemed as if 
a question were upon his lips: "If I say truth, why do ye not 

believe me?" But where was the painter? There he was, 

down by the pillar, and his voice rang loud and clear, "Hail, 
Saviour and Redeemer!" Suddenly, however, his voice lost its 
strength and became fainter and fainter, and in the last verse 
of the psalm at the words, "Yes, I believe in the winder of the 
cross," it became hushed entirely. He sank down at the pillar 
and his head was bowed, but on his face there was a look which 
expressed more plainly than words could have done the assur- 
ance: "To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise." Now he 
and she were face to face with Him who is the fairest of all. 



— 73 — 

"Withstand!" 

In southern France near the city of Aiques-Mortes are the 
ruins of an ancient citadel, which is called the Tower of Con- 
stance. It was built by Louis IX., and it was from this place 
that he set out upon his crusade. During the reign of Louis 
XIV. and his successors, the citadel was used as a prison for the 
Protestants who would not deny their faith. A vast number 
of women and children were forced to spend many, many years 
behind those massive iron doors, while the men were sent as 
slaves to the galleys. The unfortunate prisoners were exposed 
to every species of suffering, and the absence of proper food 
together w^ith the wretched treatment in general caused the 
death of a large number of victims. In winter the sharp, cold 
wind from the sea pierced the old cracked walls; in summer 
noxious mists from the adjacent marshes did the same. 

Among the prisoners was a young girl of noble birth. She 
was arrested while attending a Protestant service. She was 
dragged away from her parents and condemned to prison for 
life. Sometime after her disappearance, her mother determined 
to see her daughter once more, even though the attempt should 
cost her own life. She succeeded in reaching the base of the 
tower. Here she began to sing as loudly as she could one of the 
Protestant psalms. As soon as the tones of the psalm reached 
the ears of the prisoners, they joined her in the singing with 
great joy. The mother then cried, "Suzanne, Suzanne!" Im- 
mediately a youthful voice answered, "Mother, mother !", and 
through one of the portholes the mother caught a glimpse of 
her daughter. It was the last time that mother and daughter 
saw each other in this life. 

There was another girl, whose name was Marie Durand. 
She was but fifteen years old when she was imprisoned, and she 
spent thirty-eight years in the citadeL 



— 74 — 

It would have been an easy matter for these unfortunate 
prisoners to regain their liberty; all that was required was a 
denial of their faith. A single word would have opened the 
doors of their prison. But this word they did not utter and 
could not utter. Why not? 

On the floor of the prison there is an inscription, legible to 
this day. It was engraved upon one of the stones by Marie 
Durand with an embroidery needle. It was an undertaking 
which required much patience, but she had time enough at her 
disposal — thirty-eight years ! "Resistez !" it says. — Withstand ! 

I Pet. 5.8, 9. "Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, 
walketh about, seeking whom he may devour; whom withstand 
steadfast in your faith." 



The Lost Bible 

It is in a village in the northern part of Germany. On the 
outskirts of the village is an old, simple dwelling. Within all 
is still. A dying woman is lying upon her bed and a young man 
is kneeling beside her. 

"Farewell, Karl," whispers the dying woman. "Your father 
has been waiting for me for fifteen years. Now I am to leave 
you. You love me, but }^ou also love the world. For the last 
time I beseech you: Come back to your God. When you have 
buried me, sell everything. But one thing you must keep — I 
want you to promise it — my Bible. It is, as you know, an 
heirloom in our family. Your forefathers brought it with them 
from Bohemia when they were driven from their homes because 
of their faith. All their names are written in it. You are the 
last. Do not part with j^our Bible. Promise me." 

Weeping he made the promise. O that he could have undone 



— 75 — 
the sorrow he had caused his mother ! But now it was too late. 
When he again looked upon his mother, she was dead. 

His mother was buried, and Karl was now making a journey. 
All that he brought with him of his mothers possessions was 
the Bible. It was a large family Bible in thick leather binding 
with brass clasps. On its first page were inscribed the names 
of his forefathers who had remained steadfast in their faith. 
The Bible was so large that there was scarcely room for it in 
his knapsack. When Karl placed it there, it was with no kindly 
eyes that he looked upon it. But he could not leave it. In the 
evening at the tavern he took it out of his knapsack and tried 
to read. But when his comrades saw what kind of a book it 
was, they began to laugh and make fun of him. If it had been 
a book of adventure or a love story, they would have considered 
it proper enough. But the Bible! That was too comical! 

Karl laid the book aside, very much embarrassed. If it had 
not been for the memory of his mother, he would never again 
have placed it back in his knapsack. 

A year passed. 

Two young men had been brought into the same room in one 
of the large hospitals in Hamburg. The one had been wounded 
in a drunken brawl in a tavern, the other while at work had 
fallen from a scaffolding. There they now lay side by side. 
For a long time they were unconscious, but both recovered con- 
sciousness at about the same time. Then the nurse must tell 
them how they happened to be there and how it had been pos- 
sible to bring their belongings to the hospital. The one imme- 
diately grabs for his knapsack and utters an oath when he finds 
that his pocketbook is gone. His comrades left nothing in it 
except some rags and — a book. With another oath he throws 
the book upon the floor. "Why should I keep that trash?" — 
The other man asked, "What's that?" "O, it is nothing but a 
Bible! It has always proved a nuisance to me." "Give it to 
me," said the other man. "Yes, gladly. I shall be glad to be 



- 7 6- 

rid of it." He hid his face in his pillow as if he wished to forget 
it all. The nurse gave the book to the other man. A few weeks 
afterward both beds were vacant. In the journal of the hospital 
was the record: "William B.; entirely recovered; has gone to 
the mission institute in Moravia." "Karl N. ; entirely recov- 
ered; has gone to sea." 

Years passed. Far up in Greenland, where snow and ice 
cover the ground for ten months of the year, is a Moravian mis- 
sion station, Lichtenfels by name. At this place a missionary 
gathers the Eskimos together and preaches the gospel to them. 
One day a number of Eskimos were returning home from a 
fishing expedition. In their long, narrow kayaks they picked 
their way among the blocks of ice to land. At once they hurried 
to the missionary and reported that off the shore, not far from 
the long reef of rocks, a whaling ship was in distress. Imme- 
diately a large fire was built on the shore, that the ship might be 
directed into the harbor. The missionary sprang into a boat, 
and three Eskimos followed him. The Lord helped them ; after 
great exertion they reached the ship, were taken on board, and 
piloted the ship safely to shore. In the meantime, however, a 
sailor had fallen to the deck from the main mast. Now he lay 
moaning and bleeding upon the deck. 

The Eskimos carried him into the missionary's house and laid 
him in the missionary's bed. It was not possible to save the 
sailor's life. During the entire night the missionary sat by his 
bedside. 

The dying man opens his eyes. The missionary addresses him 
and asks him if he is prepared to meet his God. At the same 
time he brings forth his Bible, an old leather-bound book. But 
when he opens the brass clasps and is about to read, the dying 
man jumps up, stares at the book with an expression of horror 
upon his face, and exclaims, "Take it away! That is my book! 
I have thrown it away. I dare not look upon it again. Mother, 
you are calling — I can no longer hear you — too late!" 



— 77 — 
He fell back upon the bed and was dead. 
Hebr. 10.31. "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of 
the living God." 



The Bible that was Found 

Jer. 15.16. "Thy words were found, and I did eat them; 
and thy words were unto me a joy and the rejoicing of my 
heart," 

There was formerly in Paris, before the year 1789, a state 
prison called the Bastille. Many criminals and also many in- 
nocent persons were confined here for long periods of their lives. 
Among the innocent prisoners was an evangelical minister of the 
gospel by the name of Julian. 

The walls of the cell in which he was confined were covered 
with inscriptions made by those who had occupied the cell before 
him. Despair and trust in God, faith and unbelief, love and 
hate had inspired these inscriptions. All names, however, had 
been erased ; the prisoner was to know of his predecessors nothing 
but their sufferings. 

Upon one of the stones the following remarkable words had 
been inscribed: "Hie jacet anima mea," that is, in English, 
"Here lies my soul." 

The minister for a long, long time was puzzled as to the 
signification of these words. Suddenly the thought occurred to 
him that possibly behind the stone there was something hidden 
which had been the chief treasure of a prisoner in former times. 
He examined the stone and found that it was loose. He there- 
fore lifted out the stone. Behind it was a cavity, in which he 
found a large book and a lead pencil. The book was an old 
Bible, bound in leather. Quite likely the Bible had belonged 



- 7 8- 

to a Huguenot. It was filled with annotations, not only the 
blank pages, but in the margins and between the lines, every- 
where. 

On the white pages before the text, the writing was in ink. 

"To-day, June 16, 1680, I was married in the church at 
Charenton. The pastor, the venerable Jean Claude, gave me 
this book and impressed upon me that I must keep it through 
good days and bad. This, God helping me, I am fully deter- 
mined to do. 

"To-day, August 18, I was installed as pastor in Meaux (near 
Paris) and promised before the Lord that I would faithfully 
adhere to the pure doctrine and live a holy life to the extent 
that the Lord bestows upon me the power so to do. 

"To-day, August 17, 1681, a daughter was born to me. May 
God give her His blessing. 

"To-day, September 1, 1683, a son was born to me. God 
bless him. The times are bad. It is said that the king (Louis 
XIV.) is very bitter against us evangelicals. 

"To-day, June 5, 1684, m Y dear mother died. Now I shall 
bring my brother to live with me. In all the world he has no 
one but me. 

"Yesterday, October 15, 1685, a proclamation was made re- 
voking the Edict of Nantes. May the Lord show us whether 
we are to obey it. The clergy has been ordered to leave the 
country. 

"To-day, May 7, 1686, a second daughter was born to us. 
God bless her. The church is under a cross. The death penalty 
has been decreed against all preachers who show themselves in 
France. I have not fled and I shall not flee. God keeps me 
here through my little brother. He says that he is not afraid 
and that he wishes to dedicate his life to the same holy service. ,, 
Here ended the portion of the narrative which was written 
in ink. The rest was written with pencil and in very small 



— 79 — 
letters. It seemed evident that the writer felt from the begin- 
ning that he would be unable to get any other paper. 

"To-day, July 13, 1688, after spending fourteen months in 
the Bastille, through the goodness of God this book came into 
my hands. It was brought to me by one of the prison keepers 
whom my friends have won over to our side. But the man was 
not willing to say anything to me. All day I have been searching 
through the book, hoping to find some written message there; 
and now I am very sad, for I found nothing. I have read to 
the beginning of John 14, 'I shall not leave you fatherless/ 

"May 15, 1689. To-day two years have passed since I was 
put in prison. I believed that I was to be executed, just as 
many others whose joy it was to die for the Lord. But it 
seems that they wish to have no further executions in the capital. 
I have been told that I may regain my liberty whenever I please, 
provided that I deny my faith. Accordingly I shall die here. 
If I only could learn something of my wife, my children, and 
my brother! But I know nothing of them, not even whether 
they are yet alive. 

"August 20. In my cell I have found a cavity, which pre- 
sumably someone of my predecessors has begun. For two months 
I have been working at enlarging it so that I may place my 
Bible in it. I am in constant dread that it will be discovered 
and taken from me. These enemies of God do not know that 
I am not alone. I have found the mark which my wife made 
the last evening we read the Bible together. I have wept much, 
but the dear God has comforted me." 

He then goes on to tell of the endeavors on the part of 
Bishop Bossuet of Meauz and Bishop Fenelon of Cambray to 
convert him to the Catholic faith. 

"November 12. They have sent another to me. He was so 
mild and friendly that I at once asked him if he were not 
Fenelon. This pleased him much, for it was Fenelon. He 
iddressed me in so kindly a manner at the beginning that I 



— 8o — 

delayed answering. But when we began to discuss the deeper 
questions I saw that he was a Papist as much as any of the 
others. 

"October 30, 1702. For eleven years I have written nothing 
and read nothing. I was removed to another cell, but for- 
tunately my Bible was preserved in its hiding-place. I had 
imagined that their kindly overtures would be followed by 
harsher measures. And I was not mistaken. When they were 
unable to convince me with arguments they tried to do so by 
force. To begin with they placed me in a terrible place, so 
unsanitary that I do not understand how a human being could 
live there. In this place I spent six weeks. Then I was moved 
to another cell, so small and dark that it was nearly as bad as 
the preceding one, but yet it was possible to live in it. Here I 
remained for eleven years. Once they opened the door in order 
to conduct me to mass, and when I refused to attend such a 
service I was told that I should no longer be allowed to take 
any walks in the prison court. Often I was in such a state of 
agitation and anguish that I prayed God to take me from this 
world. This was a great sin. Now He has again strengthened 
me by His Word. — Oh ! my wife and my children ! I wonder 
if they still think of me. Do they pray for me as I pray for 
them ? I should perish through sorrow were it not for the hope 
that I shall see them again in Paradise. As often as I mention 
their names my keepers say to me, "Abjure your faith first. , ' 
Satan knows that this is the only point where it is possible for 
him to lead me into temptation. O God! Perhaps they have 
brought up my children in the religion which persecutes the 
Lord's faithful servants! Perhaps they have taught them to 
curse their father! O God, take these thoughts from me, they 
crush my heart. And my brother, my poor brother, who wished 
to be a minister of the gospel, what have they done with him? 

"April 12, 1709. During the past winter the cold has been 
very intense. I thought I should die of the cold, but then they 



— SI — 

provided a little heat for me. It is reported that many have 
frozen to death, and the crops have been destroyed. The hand 
of God rests heavily upon this unfortunate land. I have been 
aging rapidly during the past winter. I shall soon be fifty-four 
years old, and I have spent twenty-two of these years in the 
Bastille. 

"December, 1712. It is said that the king has seen nearly 
his whole family die. God is avenging the blood and the tears • 
of our people. Still — I could wish that I had not written 
these lines. God alone knows the reason for His deeds. 

"July, 1 714. God be praised, I am beginning to die unto 
this world. If I were told that I was now to be released, it 
would make no great impression upon me. I am content to 
remain here yet a short time longer and to meet in heaven those 
who were my family here upon earth. 

"September, 1715. The king is dead! His reign lasted 
seventy-two years. Now he would, perhaps, be glad to exchange 
positions with me. It is said that the new king is but five years 
of age, and that the Duke of Orleans is the regent. Possibly 
this may improve matters. — Such is our poor heart ! I said 
just now that I was dead unto the world, and now I surprise 
myself with talking about hope. 

"January, 1716. The hope was vain. But, thanks be to God! 
I need it no longer. I bow to His will. Soul and body I com- 
mit into His hand. It is said that our poor congregations are 
not suffering as much affliction now as during the reign of the 
late king. 

"March, 171 7. I have been visited by a young man who told 
me that he had been imprisoned in the Bastille for a small offense 
which he had committed through thoughtlessness. He pitied 
me very much, not because I had suffered so much in the prison, 
but because I clung with such tenacity to my faith. All religious 
questions were in his opinion but matters of indifference and 
of no real importance to sensible and intelligent people. But 



— 82 — 

he soon realized that I had no ear for such talk. I should sooner 
admit that light and darkness are identical than admit that 
heresy and truth are matters of indifference. 

"July, 1723. I cannot understand that I am still living. 
For four years I have been very feeble, but still there is oil in 
the lamp. But I do believe that the end is not far distant. 

"December, 1724. The persecutions are beginning again. 
A cruel proclamation has been made. The governor of the 
prison was unmerciful enough to show it to me. So I am to 
die without the comfort of knowing that my brethren in the 
faith are permitted to live in peace. But God's will be done ! 

"May, 1725. It is probable that I now write for the last 
time. There is no further space in the book. My hand trem- 
bles and it grows dark before my eyes — I can scarcely distin- 
guish the letters. Now I do not wish that I had never been 
brought to this place. For thirty-eight years God has preserved 
me from the dangers and temptations of the world. He has 
given me nearly two-thirds of my life to prepare myself for His 
coming. I feel that I can now more easily than before forgive 
the enemies of the gospel. They have proved to be the instru- 
ments of His mercy toward me. Oh ! I wish sincerely to forgive 
them freely and fully. I believe that God will not call me to 
Himself before He has taken away the last bit of hate and bit- 
terness from my heart. God be with my children, with my 
brother, if they still live, — and with my poor wife, though she 
may already be with God in heaven awaiting me. Now I may 
hope soon to see her again — she is of about the same age as I. 
God forgive me all my sins for the sake of the blood of Jesus 
Christ! I have often sinned against Him. It took me a long 
time to learn to give myself wholly to Him. And the old man 
— my sinful nature — is so ready to come to life again. God 
keep me to the end through His grace! Amen. 

"June. Once again I wish to see my old Bible. But I 
can no longer read, and I cannot see what I write. 



-8 3 - 

"Shall I succeed in hiding my dear Bible again? I do not 
know. But upon him who some time in the future shall find it 
I invoke peace and blessing from God, our Father, and the Lord 
Jesus Christ, our Saviour. I kiss my Bible.... I kiss it yet 
again .... Farewell .... Farewell .... I shall read the Word no 
more. . . .1 shall soon hear it from the lips of God." 

The last words were scarcely legible. Tears had nearly 
obliterated the words penned with a trembling hand. — Neither 
could Julian restrain his tears. 

In the whole story there was not a word in praise of the 
author himself. Even his name was not there. How often the 
tempter must have appeared to him and whispered in his ear, 
"Save thyself!" But not a word of all these struggles — all 
these victories. And who had inspired him with such faithful- 
ness? His Bible. It had become his friend. He kissed it when 
he could no longer read it. It had become his soul's chief 
treasure. 

"Hie jacet anima mea." 



How She Knew 

A devout Christian father was sitting at the deathbed of his 
little daughter, six years of age. The end was near at hand and 
the father's heart was almost broken. "Now you are about to 
leave us, my child; tell me, are you afraid?" — "No, father, I 
am not afraid at all. I am going to Jesus, and I know that He 
loves me," she replied. "How can you be so sure of it, my 
child?" — The little girl could not understand why her father 
asked such a strange question. She sat up in bed and looked 
upon him with her large, deep eyes. Then she extended her 



-8 4 - 

arms and said, "That is the way He hung upon the cross for me 
once." At the same moment she sank back upon her pillow, her 
eyes closed, and her heart ceased to beat. 



Her Experience 



It was confirmation day. The old, devout washerwoman 
from the house in the rear of the yard was conversing with the 
cabinet-maker's wife, who lived in the fine, large house which 
fronted on the street. "Yes, it is quite a problem to know what 
to do with Anna," said the washerwoman. "She can go far 
both in the one direction and in the other. It would be well if 
she could find employment among really devout people." But 
a good word does not always fall upon good ground. And it 
did not so fall in this case. Anna's mother doted upon her 
daughter and was proud of her appearance and figure. No 
finery was too good for her. "Pshaw! It can't be more dan- 
gerous for her than for other girls. There is surely no harm 
in their having a good time now and then. But some people 
have become so pious that they have entirely forgotten what they 
were and what they did in their own youth. And furthermore 
you need not bother yourself about a situation for Anna. She 
has already been offered a position — and a good one at that — 
in the wholesale house over here on the corner. Goodbye." 

The cabinet-maker's wife gave a toss to her head and went 
away. The old washerwoman sighed. She was very fond of 
Anna. Ever since Anna was a wee little girl she had been in 
the habit of visiting the old washerwoman every now and then. 
The heart of a child is always plastic and tender, and Anna's 
heart was no exception to the rule. It might, however, prove 



-8 5 - 

to be the shallow soil in which the good seed grows for a season 
but cannot take root owing to the rock beneath, and in conse- 
quence is soon withered by the sun. 

Now Anna was confirmed. A dress of the most recent style 
— a necklace with a gold cross — gloves — an embroidered 
handkerchief — a bouquet of flowers. Her parents could afford 
to provide her with all these things, so why shouldn't she have 
them ? ' 

Still Anna was not untouched by the solemnity of the day. 
In the afternoon she paid a visit to her dear old friend. She 
sat for a time in silence, listening to the old woman; and then 
she recited to her the Bible verse w T hich the pastor had given her, 
"Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation" (Matt. 
26.41). The old woman besought her to cherish these words 
in her heart; there were so many things which tempted us, and 
Anna in particular needed to be on her guard against vanity and 
coquetry. 

"But Anna!" her mother was standing at the door. "Are 
you sitting here, when there are so many in your home 
wishing to congratulate you?" Anna must needs accompany 
her. Yes, there were indeed many. And all must examine her 
presents, and all exclaimed, "O, how beautiful! How fine you 
will look in this! You are surely born under a lucky star, 
Anna." But there was no one who said a word about the sig- 
nificance of the day. In this way the day passed. 

And so Anna entered upon her work at the wholesale house. 
Sunday afternoons she was to be free to visit her parents. This 
her mother had insisted upon. 

But she couldn't, of course, be expected to stay all afternoon 
with her parents, and the old washerwoman was naturally 
nothing to a young, beautiful girl. After a while she began to 
frequent other places and seek more congenial society. In these 
new places and with her new companions she spent all her spare 
time in dance and frolic. Her company was eagerly sought by 



— 86 — 

the young people, since she was a very pretty girl. But the 
downward way is a rapid way, and such was the case also in 
the present instance. — Her employers could not for any length 
of time be satisfied with such a girl as this. That she might be 
lost was no concern of theirs, but that she spent her evenings 
as she did and neglected her work as a consequence, — this they 
objected to. And then, too, it takes money to be finely dressed 
— and gradually she began to use for her own purposes some 
of the firm's money entrusted to her for the purpose of making 
purchases for the firm. This was discovered, and she was dis- 
charged. She had forgotten to watch and pray, and so she 
yielded to temptation. 

But she stopped to think and to search her own soul. In 
whom should she now confide and where should she turn for 
help? Her companions and her parents could be of no help to 
her, of this she was certain — but her old friend, the washer- 
woman! To her she went, and there she wept and confessed 
her sin. The dear old woman's tears fell in sympathy with the 
girl, and she prayed for her and said, "Jesus receives sinners. 
He received him who called himself 'the chief among sinners/ 
and He will not reject you." Every day Anna visited the old 
woman and they read the Word of God together and prayed 
together. Anna often said, "Do you believe He will receive such 
an one as I?" and then she would lay her head upon the old 
woman's bosom and sob. — But one day she came into the room 
happy as a child. "Now I believe it," she exclaimed. "Now 
God has given me assurance of His mercy." Now, indeed, she 
was truly confirmed, and the Holy Spirit bore witness with her 
spirit that she was a child of God. 



-8 7 - 

What He was Good for 

In the valleys of the Alps in northern Italy live the Wal- 
denses. Although surrounded by Catholics, they have main- 
tained their evangelical faith for centuries. Now they are 
protected by the arm of the law, but it was not always so. 
During the past centuries they were made to suffer much for 
the sake of the gospel of Christ, because they would not give up 
their Bible. The traveler who in our own day spends a night in 
any of the villages of the Waldensian valleys will hear at mid- 
night the cry of the watchman: "It is twelve o'clock. The 
peace of God be upon us. Blessed be the memory of Peter 
Bannerman. ,, This has been the cry of the watchmen for many 
generations. The visitor will naturally be surprised and will 
ask who Peter Bannerman was. And every child in the valleys 
can tell him. It is the first thing which fathers and mothers 
tell to their little children. It is a story which the children hear 
repeated over and over again. 

It was during the time of the persecutions. The Waldenses 
were pressed upon all sides. Step by step they were compelled 
to retreat towards the north from valley to valley. Finally 
they came to the Chamonix valley. If the enemy now should 
continue to pursue them, the only alternative left them would 
be to cross the Alps into Switzerland or to die. All preparations 
were made for the perilous crossing of the mountains in the event 
of the approach of the enemies. And the enemies came. One 
day the soldiers came rushing down into the valley, — now they 
had finally reached their prey, the Waldenses could no longer 
escape them. The Waldenses offered the appearance of yielding. 
In the evening they went tc bed as usual. Soon the stillness of 
death reigned throughout the village, broken only now and then 
by the boisterous cries from the church and schoolhouse where 
the officers of the invading army were drinking and carousing. 



But when the darkness of the night had enveloped the valley, 
the Waldenses one by one crept from their houses up the moun- 
tain side to a cave. Here they fell upon their knees, and their 
aged pastor prayed God, who had formerly led the Children of 
Israel, now to be with them on their journey. 

Then they set out upon their perilous journey over the Alps. 
The pastor led the way; after him came the women and chil- 
dren; and last of all the men, ready at any moment to defend 
themselves against an attack from the rear, should the enemy 
learn of their departure and pursue them. 

More than one little child was buried in the snow whenever 
the fugitives halted. More than one of the aged and infirm 
must be left behind under the protection of one able-bodied man 
in the hope that they later on would be enabled to resume their 
journey. 

When the sun cast its first rays over the mountains, the sol- 
diers were maddened as they saw the captives who had escaped 
them moving like a long, black line over the snow up on the top 
of the mountains where it seemed that hardly a chamois could 
gain a foothold. 

Among the little band of fugitives was Meta Bannerman, the 
widow of one of the best sons of the valley. Her husband had 
fallen in one of the first battles, leaving his wife and two chil- 
dren to the care and protection of his brethren in the faith. One 
of these children was a mere infant, the other was a boy six years 
of age, a poor, misshapen cripple. 

The mother wrapped up her little, sleeping child as securely 
as she could and pressed it to her bosom. It was bitterly cold. 
For many hours they marched through deep snow. It was hard 
even for the strongest to persist. Every time they halted, Meta 
Bannerman saw little frozen bodies taken from the arms of 
weeping mothers and buried in the snow. She pressed her own 
child all the harder to her bosom. 

But the little bundle in her arms began to grow more heavy. 



-8 9 - 

She could scarcely restrain a cry when she realized the reason. 
She continued to hold her precious burden pressed close to her 
breast. She could not let go of it, she could not let the others 
discover that her child was dead. She could not leave her child 
there in the snow. No, she must carry it — drag it if need be — 
until they had crossed the mountains, until they had reached the 
refuge they were seeking. There she would bury it in the bury- 
ing ground beside the church. Then she would go every day 
and visit the grave of her little child. 

But her son, the little Peter, saw the look of despair in his 
mother's face. He thought that she was tired. "Mother, can't 
I carry little Dora a while?" he asked. "Then you could rest 
yourself a little." 

"Be quiet, my child," whispered his mother and pressed the 
dead child yet more closely to her breast. 

Finally they had reached the top of the mountain. The fugi- 
tives began to descend on the other side, a matter still more 
perilous than climbing up. They came to a little hollow between 
the rocks. Here they were protected somewhat from the keen, 
biting wind; and here they stopped to rest a few moments and 
to thank the Lord, who had brought them so far forward on 
their journey. 

Now the poor mother could no longer conceal her loss. The 
aged pastor took the child from her and placed it with some 
others who had likewise succumbed to the hardships of the 
journey. — There was now left to Meta Bannerman only her 
poor, deformed boy, but upon him she henceforth concentrated 
a double love. 

The fugitives reached Switzerland and were received with 
open arms. Here they received shelter and food. But they 
were as yet far from secure. The men, both old and young, 
must be on guard day and night at the mountain passes, in order 
to check the advance of the enemies in case they should continue 
their pursuit. Even the young boys were made to render service. 



— 90 — 

They climbed up into places inaccessible to the grown men, that 
they might keep watch and also convey information from one 
division to another. 

But little Peter Bannerman alone could render no service. 
He could not climb in and out among the great, craggy rocks 
and over the glaciers. He must stay at home. His mother en- 
deavored to comfort him with the assurance that he could pray 
for those who were up in the mountains, and that was no little 
service. And little Peter prayed, but still — O, how he wished 
that he might do something more! 

In this way days and weeks passed. Christmas was at hand. 
The widow had nothing to give her poor, crippled boy. But 
on Christmas eve she had got a couple of pennies for him. These 
she gave him with permission to buy with them whatever he 
wished. 

The boy set out into the village. Now and then he would 
stop to peep in through the frosted windows that he might see 
the happy, fortunate people within. But when he saw the 
children, healthy and strong, engaged in play, his eyes filled 
with tears. Why should he be such a poor, crippled creature ? — 
Over there at the burgomaster's, the whole house was radiant 
with light. He must peep in at the window. In the room there 
were a large number of children playing with tin soldiers. One 
of these tin soldiers had broken in two, and when a little girl 
picked it up, one of the other children cried, "Throw the tin 
soldier away. He is good for nothing — just like Peter Ban- 
nerman." 

O what a sharp pain pierced the poor boy's heart at these 
words! All his joy was quenched. He must go home — home 
to his mother, and tell her what cruel words he had heard. 
Continually the words sounded in his ears: "Good for nothing 
— just like Peter Bannerman." 

Even in his dreams the words would trouble him. — So it 
came about one cold, starlight night — he could not sleep — he 



— 91 — 

must go out to the other boys upon the mountains. He arose. 
His mother did not hear him as he left the house and set out to 
climb the mountain. As he proceeded he dreamed that he was 
not a cripple, but he soon awoke to the bitter reality. The 
cracks and fissures in the mountain which the other boys could 
easily have jumped across he must crawl through and over on 
all fours. But nevertheless he ascended higher and higher. 
Over there was a great heap of brushwood and boughs. He 
knew what it was for. Such heaps of wood, which could be 
made to burn quickly and brightly, had been made round about 
the mountains. At this heap, curiously enough, he found no one 
on guard, although he knew that a guard was always stationed 
at every such heap. The first guard who saw the enemy ap- 
proach would set fire to his heap, thereupon the next guard 
would do the same, and so on round about the mountains to call 
the men to battle. 

His strength failed him, he could go no further. He sat 
down exhausted, leaned his head upon a convenient bough, and 
fell asleep. He dreamed that the heap of wood had been set on 
fire, was now a blazing beacon, and that someone was crying, 
"Good for nothing — just like Peter Bannerman. ,, 

Suddenly he leaped up. What was this? His ear could de- 
tect no sound, but over there by the rocks was a black mass 
which grew larger and larger as he gazed at it. There could 
be no mistake about it, a large number of men were slowly and 
silently approaching. It must be the enemy ! With staring eyes 
he watched them coming nearer and nearer. He wished to cry 
out but could not. Hastily he seized the tinderbox lying in 
readiness beside the heap of wood and branches and started a 
fire. A bright flame shot up and almost instantly the beacon 
was in full blaze. The boy now ran away, forgetful of the fact 
that he was a cripple. As he ran he saw one beacon after the 
other blaze forth upon the mountain side. 

But the enemy had discovered him. He heard them calling 



— 92 — 

him, angered that their approach had been discovered and pro- 
claimed. He stood at the side of a wide cleft in the rock. How 
was he, a cripple, to overcome this obstacle? He must overcome 
it, he must give the alarm down there in the village, where all 
were sleeping. Close behind him was the enemy. He made a 
wild leap and gained the other side. Even as he did so, an arrow 
pierced his side; but he sped on. It seemed that he had been 
strengthened for the moment with superhuman powers. 

The alarm was given. The whole village was aroused and 
soon in commotion. Peter sank down, bleeding, at his mother's 
door. 

Great was the disappointment of the enemy. Where they 
had expected to find a village asleep, they were met by a body of 
armed and resolute men. A bloody battle ensued, in which hun- 
dreds of men were slain although the battle was a brief one. 
Hundreds of men also were plunged over the precipices into the 
yawning abyss below. 

When the victory was won, all hastened to the house of the 
widow. There they gathered about the boy who was dying. His 
eyes were beaming with joy. He seized his mother's hand and 
whispered, "They can never say again: 'Good for nothing — 
just like Peter Bannerman.' Can they, mother ?" 

How he had reached the top of the mountain and how he had 
returned again, he could not himself explain. The only thing 
he knew was that he had prayed and that his prayer had been 
heard. The blood was flowing from his wound, only a few 
minutes of life remained for him. The aged pastor bent over 
him. "My splendid boy," said the venerable man, while the 
tears were coursing down his cheeks, "your mother shall want 
for nothing. Is there anything else that you wish?" The boy 
smiled and said, "Let the Waldenses never forget that the Lord 
saved them through a poor cripple, who was good for nothing." 
With these words he passed into the sleep of death. 

And the Waldenses have not forgotten it. When a mother 



— 93 — 

sits and tells her children of their faithful forefathers she does 
not forget Peter who saved his people. And many a little boy 
and girl in the Waldensian valleys then wish, "O, that I might 
some day be of service to my people and be good for something 
— just like Peter Bannerman!" 



On the Brink of Ruin 

It is an old story, and still ever new. — Near the village 
lived a small farmer with his wife. They had an only daughter, 
a child of remarkable beauty. The wife often said to her hus- 
band, "Look closely at her. Doesn't she look as if she were of 
gentle birth, her complexion is so fine and white? Her hair 
glitters like gold, her cheeks are as red as the roses in the doc- 
tor's garden, and her eyes ! — just look at her eyes !" The hus- 
band agreed with his wife — as he usually did. "Yes, Anna is 
a beautiful child, much too delicate for simple folks such as we 
are. It is almost a pity that she must eat from the same dishes 
that we do, and wear herself out in the hard, rough work that 
has fallen to our lot; but it cannot be helped. " 

Several years passed. Then one summer a painter came to 
the village. From morning till night he worked at his painting. 
And he painted the most absurd things, — the shoemaker's old 
peat-shed and the constable's old white-faced horse. One day 
he asked permission of Anna's parents to paint her picture. She 
was such a pretty girl and he would pay her two dollars for 
sitting for the portrait. Well, yes, why not? Two dollars was 
money, to be sure. While he was painting her portrait, he 
flattered her. But finally he was through and she received her 
two dollars. "Farewell, good people," he said. "Farewell, my 



— 94 — 
pretty child. It is a pity that you must wear yourself out here 
engaged in such menial labor." 

These words took root in Anna's heart. She was at that time 
sixteen years of age. She now became wilful and capricious, and 
began to put on airs. Nothing would do but she must go to the 
next fair in the city to spend her two dollars. When she re- 
turned she brought with her a mirror. This was in the good 
old times, and there had never been a mirror in Anna's home 
before this. 

Whatever the reason might be, it is certain that after the mir- 
ror had come into the house, Anna's health gave way. She was 
seized with headaches, her hands could not endure the rough 
toil in the field, and she complained of pain in her chest. In 
the opinion of her parents, however, she certainly did not look 
sick at all. 

Then one day the manager from the manor-house made them 
a visit. "We need a housemaid, " he said. "Your daughter is 
not at all suited for the rough work of the fields. Let her come 
up to the manor-house. There she will have an opportunity to 
learn something." 

Anna went to the manor-house and the mirror went with her. 

After a couple of months Anna came home one Sunday. She 
was pale and did not seem well, but she was very elegant. About 
her neck she wore a bright-red satin scarf. "Better to have red 
in your cheeks than to have it around your neck," said her moth- 
er. Anna's cheeks reddened at the remark, but were soon paler 
than before. 

Father and mother could not understand what was wrong 
with her. In the evening they accompanied her some distance 
on her way. "Good-night, father; good-night, mother." "Good- 
night, child." — They walked a few steps further. The father 
was strangely affected. He must warn his daughter. "Anna," 
he said — she started — "Anna, remember that God in heaven 
knows and sees everything." He could say no more. — That 



— 95 — 
night the parents slept little. They realized that vanity had 
gained complete possession of their daughter's heart. And the 
worst feature of it was that they themselves had helped to bring 
this about. Now they realized the significance of the little mir- 
ror. 

The next day the father went to the manor-house and brought 
Anna home with him. There she went about her simple duties 
in a quiet manner. One day she said to her father, "God be 
praised for making me free ! And you, too, dear father, I wish 
to thank. I was upon the brink of ruin." 

But from that day on there was one thing that was hidden 
from sight, and that was the mirror. 

But there was another mirror which was brought out instead, 
the mirror in which we poor human beings may see what our 
heart looks like, and what the nature of God's heart is — the 
Book of books. In this mirror Anna came to find her delight. 
And this mirror deceives no one. 



The Story of a Young Man 

2 Sam. 18.32. "Is it well with the young man Absalom?" 

It was a calm, clear evening in a city in Germany. The city 
was situated on the bank of a large river. There was much 
activity just now upon the river; pleasure boats were moving to 
and fro. 

Near the bank of the river sat a young man. After he had 
finished his day's work in the office in which he was employed, 
he had set out to take a walk, for the glorious springtime had 
now come. He was now sitting and looking upon the bustling 
scenes before him on the river. In some way or other he was 



- 9 6- 

strangely impressed, and serious thoughts arose within him. — 
At a little distance from him stood two men, who were about 
to set forth upon the river in a boat laden with lumber. He 
heard them say that they wished to arrive before darkness set 
in at a city a few miles down the river. "Oh, if we only get it 
out into mid-stream, it will be easy. The boat will surely glide 
with the current," said one of the men, as they were making 
ready for the journey. And very true it was. As soon as the 
men had rowed the boat out into the river, the speed increased 
of itself. The young man's eyes followed the boat for a few 
brief moments. Then it had disappeared. 

He fell into deep thought. The bustle and activity upon the 
river gradually diminished. After a while, of all the many 
sounds he had heard only one continued to ring in his ears. This 
was the words of the boatman to his comrade, "The boat will 
surely glide with the current." To begin with he did not give 
much thought to the words, but they kept recurring to him again 
and again. He could not rid himself of them; it seemed as if 
they had burned themselves into his soul. 

He was eighteen years old. A year ago he had come to the 
city and had found employment in the office of a merchant who 
was an old friend of his father's. The young man's father and 
mother were devoutly pious. At a very early age their child had 
been brought to the foot of the cross and had experienced some- 
thing of the love which is "stronger than death." It was a pain- 
ful moment, when the parents bade farewell to their son of 
seventeen years. They knew to what temptations he would be 
exposed in the city. He took leave of his parents, accompanied 
by many prayers. 

But how was it now with him ? This question pressed itself 
upon him this evening, and the answer — yes, it echoed more 
and more plainly within him, "The boat will surely glide with 
the current." 

Yes, he was surely gliding with the current. "Tell me what 



— 97 — 
company you keep," his father had often said to him, "and I 
shall tell you who you are and what you will become. ,, 

In the office in which he was employed there was another 
young man, who had been very kind to him from the beginning 
and had associated much with him. But all questions of a 
religious nature this young man would dismiss with jest and 
mockery. It was as if he intended to say, "You are still so 
green; wait a little, we shall soon get those foolish notions out 
of your head." And our young friend from the country gradual- 
ly yielded to this young man and to others like him, merely that 
he might be left in peace. He was silent when the others scoffed 
at religion and ridiculed pious Christians. And his silence stim- 
ulated them to continued mockery. But after a while even his 
silent confession became less pronounced. His new friend, how- 
ever, adapted himself somewhat to the situation in that he re- 
frained from mocking at religion ; he even went so far as to ac- 
company the young man from the country to church occasionally. 
But on the other hand, our young friend also adapted himself to 
the situation to such an extent that he joined his new friend 
more and more in his sinful pastimes. He noticed plainly now 
the absence of all fervor from his prayers. He came to be em- 
barrassed when he met any of the devout Christian people with 
whom he was acquainted in the city, — the sight of them seemed 
to him like a judgment upon his own life. Finally the last link 
burst — he ceased entirely to read the Word of God and attend 
divine services in God's house. Was he happy then? No, he 
was not happy, in spite of the fact that he was drinking deep 
from worldly pleasures. "There is no peace to the wicked." 

There were times when a strange feeling of unrest and disgust 
with life came over him; and this sometimes happened when he 
was in the midst of his gayety. It was wormwood in his cup. 
He was drawing water from the "broken cisterns, that can hold 
no water." 

Now he sat looking out upon the river. A few hours before 

Love Divine. 4. 



-98- 

he had received a letter from his mother. She understood that 
he had changed. She prayed him insistently to return to Jesus 
who receives sinners. He knew that his mother had prayed 
much and wept much as she wrote this letter. It was under 
these circumstances that he had heard the words, "The boat 
will surely glide with the current." 

Yes, he was gliding with the current. "If it only gets out 
into mid-stream, it will be easy. The boat will surely glide with 
the current." 

That night he had a strange dream. It seemed to him that 
he was wading through a river. The water was but little over 
his feet. To begin with it was very easy ; the water was shallow 
and still, and the bottom was smooth, soft sand. But soon the 
water became deeper, — it reached his knees. The bottom was 
covered with stones. Finally it became difficult to maintain a 
firm footing. Wave upon wave rushed upon him and threatened 
to carry him away. Then the thought came to him, "It is im- 
possible to keep this up any longer, it is better to go with the 
current. He lay down upon his back, and easily and delight- 
fully he was borne away, at first slowly, then more and more 
rapidly. He would have found his situation agreeable, if he 
had not continually been troubled by the thought, (f Whither am 
I being carried?" But this thought was so insistent that he was 
filled with the greatest anxiety as to what the end of this would 
be. He was going downward with fearful velocity. He cast 
his arms about for something to lay hold of. Then he awoke 
with a cry of anguish. 

All the next day he was downhearted and restless. He was 
glad when his day's work was ended. But just as he came out 
of the office, he met one of his comrades of those former days 
before he had begun to glide with the current. This comrade 
greeted him cordially and asked if he might accompany him. 
Our friend would rather have avoided him, but under the cir- 
cumstances he could do nothing else than accept his comrade's 



— 99 — 
company. Accordingly they set off together. For a while both 
were silent. Then the other said, "I have often thought of 
asking you a question. It is this, 'Have you not recently lost 
something ?' " — Then our friend could keep silent no longer. 
"All, all!" he cried. "I have gone with the current, I have 
lost all!" — "God be praised for that confession!" said the other. 
"Then there is rescue for you, when you believe yourself to be 
hopelessly lost." — "For me there is no hope. I am gliding 
with the current and know not what the end will be." — "Have 
you turned to the Lord, confessed your sin, and prayed to Him 
for help? You cannot imagine what power there is in confes- 
sing your sin. Do you not remember that the apostle says : 'If 
we confess our sins, he is faithful and righteous to forgive us 
our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness'? Do you 
not remember what David says : 'When I kept silence, my bones 
wasted away through my groaning all the day long. I acknowl- 
edged my sin unto thee . . . and thou f orgavest the iniquity of 
my sin'? Dear friend, I pray you, go and confess all to Jesus 
as you now have confessed it to me." 

And the young man went home and confessed all before Jesus, 
just as it was. He brought forth his Bible and read the fifteenth 
chapter of Luke* "I will arise and go to my father," echoed 
within him. And he repeated the experience of the Prodigal 
Son. "I acknowledged my sin unto thee. . .and thou forgavest 
the iniquity of my sin." (Ps. 32). 

From that day he no longer went with the current ; he went 
against it. 



— 100 — 



The Church Bells 

It was a summer evening. The sun set in clouds of gold. 
The song of the birds had ceased. 

A mother and her little son, five years old, were sitting on the 
lawn before their house. The evening bells began to ring. 

"Mother, what is that?" 

"That is the bells of the Lord, which tell us that the day is 
ended." 

"What do they say? It seems to me that they are saying 
something. Do they ask any questions?" 

"Yes, they do. Every evening they ask every one a question, 
and the answer is carried up to God." 

"Mother, what are the bells asking me?" 

"Listen, my child." 

He sat very still. He was listening very attentively, and his 
eyes seemed to grow larger. 

"Mother," he whispered and threw his arms around his 
mother's neck, "the bells are asking me if I have been a good 
boy to-day." 

"And what can my little Paul answer to that?" 

He turned his eyes away. "Mother, I dare not answer the 
bells ; for they will carry my answer up to God, will they not ?" 
Tears came into his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. 

"Have you done anything to-day, my little Paul, which God 
should not be told about?" 

"Mother, I took the horse which was given to Hans on his 
birthday, and I broke its leg off, and then I put a newspaper 
over it, so that nobody would see it. What do you suppose God 
will say?" 

The little boy sobbed. 

His mother took him up into her arms. "Yes, that was very 



— IOI — 

bad, my little boy. But now you wish to be a good boy again, 
and then I shall repair the horse, and we will pray to Jesus that 
Paul may be a good boy. Fold your hands, Paul." 

And the mother prayed, "God the Father, take away my sin 
— Lord Jesus, pray for me — God the Holy Spirit, make Thy 
dwelling in my heart." 

The evening bells ceased ringing. 

Then another bell began to ring, — first, three strokes, then a 
little pause, and then twice it rang three strokes. 

"What is that, mother?" 

"That is the prayer bell, Paul." 

"What is it praying for?" 

"It is praying that Paul may be the child of God the Father, 
the servant of Jesus Christ, and the temple of the Holy Spirit." 

The last strokes of prayer sounded forth their evening bless- 
ing, and then all was still. 



The Two Ferns 

There were two ferns in the room. Christian asked, "Why 
does the one grow but the other not?" 

They were bought at the same time, they received the same 
care, but only one of them grew. It looked as though the other 
would die. 

What could be the reason? 

The fern which did not grow was sent to a gardener. He 
examined it carefully. At the root of the fern was a worm. Just 
a little worm. But it was enough to take the life of the plant. 

There were two boys who went to the same Sunday-school. 
Both received the same instruction. 



— 102 — 

Both boys grew to manhood. One of them loved his Saviour, 
the other did not. 

What could be the reason ? 



When He Comes Again 

John i.i i. "He came unto his own, and they that were his 
own received him not" 

About three hundred years ago there reigned in Russia an 
emperor who was called "Ivan the good." He was deeply con- 
cerned about the welfare of his people, and he would often go 
about in disguise that he might acquaint himself with the cir- 
cumstances of his subjects. 

One cold winter evening a poor beggar with his clothing in 
tatters went from house to house in a village not far from 
Moscow. It was the emperor. 

From door to door he went, but no one would give him shelter 
for the night. 

Weary and hungry he was about to leave the village, when 
he noticed a lowly little cottage. He determined to make one 
further effort to find some one who would offer him hospitality. 

And he succeeded. The peasant invited him into the house 
and bade him be welcome. "But truly you come at an unfavor- 
able moment," he added. "My wife is ill, a newborn babe is 
with her in the bed, and I have five other hungry mouths to fill." 

The emperor entered, ate of the coarse bread, and watched 
the peasant put his children to bed and care for his sick wife. 
He asked to see the baby, and held it a while in his arms. Then 
he lay down to rest upon the hard, stone floor. It was truly 



— io3 — 

quite a different couch from the one he was accustomed to. But 
he was tired, and he soon fell asleep. 

At dawn he arose. "Wait a period of three hours," he said 
to the peasant. "I know a rich man. I shall go to him and tell 
him of your circumstances. I believe that he will consent to be 
your little child's godfather. In that case you will receive a 
godfather's present from him, which will be no small one either, 
I assure you." 

The peasant eyed the beggar for a moment in great surprise. 
Then he promised to wait the specified time before he had the 
child baptized. 

A couple of hours passed. Then loud cries were heard and 
much rumbling of carriages — the children ran out into the 
street and back to their father. "The emperor is coming, the 
emperor is coming!" they cried. 

The peasant looked out through the door. He could scarcely 
believe his eyes — the emperor's coach had stopped before his 
own door. The emperor left the coach and came forward to 
him. 

"Good morning! my friend. How is your wife getting along? 
And how is the little boy who is to be my godchild?" 

The peasant stammered but could say nothing because of his 
great surprise. Now he knew what guest he had been enter- 
taining — the emperor in the garb of a beggar. 

"He shall be my godchild. He shall be my own child. Here 
is a gift for him. When he becomes a little older, bring him 
up to me in the palace. I shall provide for him. It shall not 
be in vain that you received the emperor into your house." 

John 1. 12. "But as many as received him, to them gave he 
the right to become children of God, even to them that believe 
on his name." 



— I04- 



Guardian Angels 



Ps. 34.7. "The angel of Jehovah encampeth round about them 
that fear him, and deliver eth them!' 

Of David it can truly be said that he was always in danger ; 
but it can also be said that in all his danger the angel of the 
Lord protected him, for he feared the Lord. 

You have heard of the glorious vision w T hich the servant of 
Elisha was permitted to see, when the Syrians surrounded Do- 
than. When the servant came to Elisha in the morning and 
said, "Alas, my master! How shall we do?" Elisha answered 
calmly, "Fear not." Why did not Elisha fear? Because he 
knew that the angel of the Lord encamps round about them that 
fear Him, and delivers them. And when through the prophet's 
prayer the eyes of the servant were opened, he saw what Elisha 
had all the time seen, "Behold, the mountain was full of horses 
and chariots round about Elisha." This was angel guardian- 
ship. You may read the story in 2 Kings, 6.15 — 17. 

The Lord keeps his promises, and He keeps also his promise 
of protection by angels. You shall hear a story told by a mis- 
sionary — Van Asselt by name — who labored for many years 
among the Battak tribe on the island of Sumatra. 

"At one time" — so he tells the story — "some Battacks came 
to us. They were still heathens and cannibals. They asked us 
what it was that we had raised up around our house. I gave 
them no answer but asked them instead, 'Why do you wish to 
know?' Then they replied, 'We have noticed at night that 
there is a chain around your house and sometimes a double chain. 
At a great distance it looks like a light. When we sometimes 
approached it we saw it was human figures in white shining gar- 
ments. They stood so close to each other that it was not possi- 
ble to pierce their rank. One of our men at one time attempted 



— io5 — 
to go right up to them ; but he could not, the light was too in- 



Yes, the Lord does even more than He has promised. This 
is shown by the following account of an occurrence which took 
place in India a few years ago. 

One day a company of British soldiers were marching through 
a field. They were all skilled marksmen. At some distance 
from the company stood a large water jar. While the company 
made a brief halt in order to rest, the captain advanced to three 
of the best marksmen and said, "Do you think you can hit that 
jar over there ?" They looked at him in surprise — that surely 
was a simple matter. "Try it, then," he said. "If the jar is 
broken, we can easily pay the owner for his loss." 

The first soldier put his rifle to his shoulder, aimed and fired. 
When the smoke disappeared, the others laughed at him — the 
jar was untouched. "That was too bad," thought the soldier. 
"If I had only taken time to aim a little more carefully I should 
certainly have hit it." — Now the second soldier came forward. 
"I shall surely hit it," could be read in the expression of his face. 
He aimed and shot. "A miss," cried the others and laughed. 
"What is the matter with you to-day?" asked the captain. "Is 
there no one of you that can hit the jar? You try," he said to 
the third. 

The third soldier aimed long and carefully — all stood in 
suspense. He fired, but the jar stood unharmed. What could 
this mean? All ran over to the jar, and as they came nearer it 
they heard a soft crying. When they reached the jar and looked 
into it, they found within a little child. Now they knew what 
it was that turned away the bullets — the guardianship of an- 
gels. 



— io6 — 



Real Riches 

I John 3.17. "But whoso hath the world's goods, and be- 
holdeth his brother in need, and shutteth up his compassion from 
him, how doth the love of God abide in him? JJ 

In the early days of the church there dwelt in the city of Alex- 
andria a devout servant of the Lord by the name of Makarios. 
In his congregation there was a young woman who was very 
rich. But she used her wealth in a manner which was far from 
becoming to a child of God. She was vain and concerned her- 
self only about fine clothes and precious jewels. This grieved 
Makarios, her pastor. 

One day he went to the home of the young woman and said 
to her, "Since I know that you are an admirer of precious stones, 
I came to tell you that I am in a position to procure for you 
some jewels, — diamonds and emeralds. You can procure them 
for a mere pittance, — only one thousand. Turn the money 
over to me and I will negotiate the purchase. ,, This was good 
news to the young woman. As she reposed entire confidence in 
the integrity of Makarios, she gave him the money, in order 
that he might purchase the jewels immediately. 

Days and weeks passed, but she had as yet seen nothing of 
her diamonds and emeralds. She saw and heard Makarios fre- 
quently, but he never said a word about his purchase of the pre- 
cious stones. 

Finally she could wait no longer. She went to Makarios and 
asked, "Well, how about your purchase of the diamonds and 
the emeralds ?" "Fine," he replied, "I bought them the very 
day I received your money. Come with me and you shall see all 
the glittering gems. And if you are not satisfied with your bar- 
gain, I promise you the return of your money." 

They passed through several streets, and arrived at a small 



— 107 — 

but new house. "Come in with me a moment," said Makarios. 
It was a home for orphans which the Christians of Alexandria 
had just established. She saw how the eyes of the children 
beamed with joy as Makarios sang a hymn with them, and she 
saw him sit down in their midst and talk with them about their 
Saviour. 

Again they were out upon the street. But Makarios seemed 
to have numberless errands into the houses which they passed. 
When they came to a certain large, tall building, he again invit- 
ed the young woman to enter. This was a home for aged and 
invalid men and women of the congregation. Makarios went 
about conversing with the old people who had found a refuge 
there. At last they came to a room in which upon a bed lay an 
old man at the point of death. But it was easy to see that in 
this case, "Death was swallowed up in victory" (i Cor. 15.54). 
A tear gleamed in the eye of the aged man, when Makarios asked 
him how he was. "I am in the same condition as old Simeon," 
he answered; " 'Now lettest thou thy servant depart, Lord, ac- 
cording to thy word, in peace; for mine eyes have seen thy sal- 
vation' " (Luke 2.29,30). 

Again they walked down the street. Finally they came to the 
home of Makarios. Now of course he would show her the 
precious gems. 

Makarios seated himself directly facing her. He looked her 
seriously in the eyes. "You wish to see the emeralds? The little 
children we just visited I am in the habit of calling the emeralds 
of the faithful. Did you see how their eyes were radiant with 
love of Jesus? — And the diamonds? These old people who 
praise the Lord, these are our diamonds. Have you seen a more 
beautiful diamond than the tear of joy which shone in eye of the 
dying man ? 

"These are the precious stones, diamonds and emeralds, which 
I have bought with your money. I think it is the best bargain 
I ever made. The home for the orphan children and the home 



— io8 — 

for the aged and invalid, — both of these I have established with 
your money. Are you satisfied with the bargain?" 

The rich young woman was satisfied. Weeping she fell upon 
her knees and thanked God that her money had been used in 
this way. She thanked God, too, that her soul had been saved 
from the death of worldliness. 

The rich young woman is a symbol of the true child of God. 
Who is so rich as a child of God ? Even if he does not possess 
much of the treasures of this world, he is nevertheless possessed 
of the boundless treasures of the better world ; and those treas- 
ures are righteousness, peace, and joy. And the Saviour rejoices 
when He sees His children using their riches to enrich others. 



Perpetual Prayer 

I Thess. 5.17. "Pray without ceasing/' 

A number of preachers were once assembled in a parsonage in 
Germany. The subject of their conversation happened to be the 
injunction of the apostle Paul to the Christians at Thessalonica, 
"Pray without ceasing." The discussion continued for some 
time, but now you shall hear how they came to a right under-, 
standing of their subject. — In the employ of the pastor in 
whose home they were assembled there was a housemaid, an ex- 
emplary young woman except in one particular, — she was 
rather inquisitive. Think of what she did ! While the preach- 
ers were discussing hither and thither, the one more learnedly 
than the other, she had taken up a position behind the door lead- 
ing to an adjoining room. There she stood and listened with 
the greatest attention to every word that was spoken. She was 
so absorbed in this that she did not notice that the pastor, the 



— 109 — 
master of the household, had arisen from his seat. Before she 
was aware of it, he was in the room where she was standing; and 
there she was, caught in the act. 

"What! Are you standing here eavesdropping ?" he ex- 
claimed as if angry. "How could such a thing occur to you, 
Margaret? But come into the room here. Your punishment 
shall be that you must tell us how you apply to your daily life 
these words of the apostle, Tray without ceasing/ ,: 

Resistance was in vain; Margaret must come in. She was, 
of course, far from pleased that her eavesdropping should have 
such unpleasant consequences. For a while she stood embar- 
rassed. 

Then she began modestly: 

"Well, I do not see that these words are difficult to under- 
stand. I take them quite literally and obey them as well as I 
can. 

"When I awake in the morning, the first thing I do is 
to thank God for keeping me through the night. And then I 
pray that His grace and mercy may follow me through the day. 

"When I have done this, I dress; and then I think that it is 
of no consequence how mean and poor my dress may be. The 
really important thing is to be clad in the raiment which Jesus 
gives us, — his righteousness. 

"Then I wash. As I do this, I am reminded of the fact that 
Jesus had made me clean and pure through the washing of re- 
generation in holy baptism, and that the blood of Christ has 
cleansed me from all sin. 

"After this I go to the kitchen. The first thing I do there is 
to kindle the fire. I gather together kindling and wood and 
light it. Then as the fire begins to burn, at first slowly and 
gently, but then more and more rapidly until all is in a great 
blaze, I think of the light of the gospel, which in so many places 
of the earth is as yet a mere spark but which shall soon shed its 
full light upon all the world. 



— no 

"Next I prepare the morning meal and place it upon the table. 
And when I am busied with the food, I cannot help thinking 
of the bread of life and of Him who said, 'He that cometh to 
me shall not hunger, and he that believeth on me shall never 
thirst.' 

"When the breakfast is prepared, I go up to the pastor's study 
and begin to sweep and dust. But when I begin to sweep, how 
can I take a broom into my hands — she said this with tears in 
her eyes — without thinking of her who swept and swept until 
she had found the piece of silver, the lost piece of silver ?" 

In this way she continued for quite a while, — she, the illiter- 
ate housemaid, who applied the Word of God to all of her triv- 
ial duties. 

A well-known preacher says, "Prayer is the breath of a Christ- 
ian. He who has a living faith in his heart prays always. Not 
that he spends the whole day upon his knees, but wherever he is, 
in his business house, in his office, or at work in his shop, his 
heart always finds opportunity to hold converse with God." 

Luke 1 8. i. "And he spake a parable unto them to the end 
that they ought always to pray, and not to faint." 



Two Faces 

Acts 6.15. "And all. . .saw his face as it had been the face 
of an angel" 

In the city of Milan, in Italy, lived many, many years ago a 
famous painter, whose name was Leonardo da Vinci. He paint- 
ed many beautiful pictures of scenes in the life of the Saviour, 
but the most beautiful of all is surely "The Last Supper." 
Leonardo worked upon this painting for many years, and he 



— Ill — 

prayed over his work. He took as models for the faces of the 
disciples the faces of some of his own friends in Milan. But 
he had not yet found a face which he could use as a model for 
the face of the Saviour. Finally his attention was called to a 
young man, Pietro Bandinelli, who was a singer, renowned for 
his exquisitely beautiful voice. Here Leonardo found that 
which he had been seeking. A more lovable countenance could 
scarcely be imagined, piety and purity beamed through his eyes. 
Leonardo made inquiries concerning the young man's life. All 
praised him. And so this young man became the "model for 
Leonardo's painting of the figure of the Saviour. The painting 
was just completed, as Pietro left the city for Rome where he 
was still further to develop his voice. — But while in Rome he 
fell among evil companions and — "Tell me with whom you 
associate, and I shall tell you what you yourself will become." 
He became a Prodigal Son. Deeply and still more deeply did 
he sink into sin and dissipation of every kind, and he ended as a 
criminal. But of all this Leonardo knew nothing. 

His great painting was nearly finished. There was but one 
face lacking, and that was the face of Judas, the son of perdition. 

One day as Leonardo was passing along the street, a miserable 
creature met him. It was a man in rags, filthy, with hair un- 
combed, and with a shy, shrinking air about him. The painter 
was startled, — here was a real Judas-model. He engaged the 
man to sit for him as a model. When Leonardo had finished 
the figure of Judas, the man said to him, "But do you not re- 
member that you have used me as your model once before ?" — 
When Leonardo then looked more closely at him, whom do you 
suppose he found the man to be ? It was Pietro Bandinelli. 

Such power has sin to change the face and the heart. 



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